Sufficiently Advanced Technology
by therocketscientist
Summary: Updated at last! AU after HP OotP and Robin 124. BatmanHP crossover. While investigating a series of mass murders in England, Batman spends his spare time trying to work out the technology he believes is behind Hogwarts magic.
1. Prologue

**Sufficiently Advanced Technology…**

…_**is indistinguishable from magic.**_** – Arthur C. Clarke**

**Author(s): **The Rocket Scientists

**Disclaimer: **DC owns Bat universe. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter universe. We own nothing (waaah). No money changing hands (waaah).

**Rating: **PG

**Feedback: **Feedback welcomed! Flames will be used to light Bunsen burners.

**Summary: ** Batman/HP crossover. While investigating a series of mass murders in England, Batman spends his spare time trying to work out the technology behind Hogwarts magic.

**A/N:** This story takes place before Robin #125.

**PROLOGUE**

Batman stepped off the teleporter pad, marched to the Watchtower conference room, and took his seat at the table. He had never liked being abruptly summoned away from his own business to an impromptu meeting, and today was no different. Or was it? Looking around, he saw not only his Justice League colleagues, but members of the Outsiders and Titans as well. His eyes narrowed beneath his cowl as he performed a quick mental review of recent world news. What emergency would call all three teams of heroes to the Watchtower?

Superman took the podium. "I have called you all here," he began, "because of a potential threat to all humanity. As you may or may not be aware, there has been–"

"–a series of unexplained mass murders in the United Kingdom," rumbled Batman.

Superman glared at him. "You could at least have let me finish my introduction," he grumbled under his breath. In a louder tone, he continued, "Batman is correct. Entire villages in England, Scotland, and Wales have just…died. In each village, the victims appear to have simply dropped in their tracks within a few minutes of each other. Plant and animal life was left untouched, but the entire human population of the village was wiped out. There is no evidence indicating biochemical attacks, and local and national police have found no clues as to either the cause or the perpetrators of the deaths. The attacks appear to be escalating in frequency, and Her Majesty's government has now asked us to step in."

A spirited discussion broke out at this point.

"Could there be an extraplanetary cause?" "It must be Darkseid!" "Perhaps it's a meta – maybe one of those left over from the old Soviet Union – you know, like the KGBeast." "I bet it's one of those mind-control masters." "Nah, it's gotta be some kinda specialized radiation."

Perhaps 'discussion' was not the right word. 'Discussion' implied some sort of order, procedure, rational exchange of ideas, all of which were totally lacking in this loud session of haphazard speculation. Superman seemed willing to let the chaos go on indefinitely, but Batman had a much lower tolerance level for wasted time.

"Enough." His voice was not loud, but there was a tone in it which silenced everyone else in the room.

"This is no better than random guesswork. You are hypothesizing without any data. Someone needs to examine the evidence before coming up with a theory," he growled.

The members of the Justice League looked at each other. Then Superman voiced the thought that was in everyone's mind.

"Good point, Batman. Who else do you want on your team?"

Batman's eyes narrowed dangerously, and his voice dropped another octave. "_**My**_ team?"

Superman didn't flinch.

"Well, you did just volunteer, didn't you? Besides, this sounds like a job requiring your specialized skills."

Batman took in a deep breath and glared at him. Superman gazed calmly back. After a few moments, Batman exhaled slowly.

"If I must. You can reach me in London. I won't require a team, though."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, you will. The official request for aid specified representatives from all three teams. That's why everyone was called to this meeting."

Rolling his eyes under his cowl, Batman stood and placed both hands flat on the table. "Fine. Nightwing, Robin, you're with me." He turned and stalked out of the room.

Nightwing and Robin looked at each other, grinned, rose from their seats, nodded to Superman, and followed their mentor out the door.

"**LATEST IN SERIES OF MASS MUGGLE KILLINGS! Ministry Declares He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Prime Suspect!**"

Hermione Granger read the latest Daily Prophet headline out loud to everyone at breakfast in the Burrow's kitchen.

Ron Weasly groaned. "Same old, same old," he said. "Didn't they figure that out months ago?"

His father let out an exasperated breath. "Yes, Ron, as a matter of fact, they did. They've been trying to keep a lid on it, but the killings have gotten to the point that even the Muggle government is taking official notice. So the Ministry finally decided that everyone in the wizarding world should be alerted."

"But the wizarding community can't really do anything directly against Voldemort, can they," put in Harry Potter, belatedly sighing as everyone except Hermione flinched when he said the Dark Lord's name.

"Now that you mention it…" began Hermione, her voice trailing off thoughtfully.

"Mention what, Hermione?" Ron's sister, Ginny, asked.

"Well, you know, Harry's right…aside from Harry's wand, there is no magical weapon that can even touch Voldemort. So I was thinking…if magic isn't effective against him…is there some sort of Muggle technology that might work?"

There was a dead silence as everyone gaped at her in disbelief, followed by a roar of laughter from Ron.

"C'mon…Hermione…" he gasped. "Muggles can't even…find Hogwarts castle…let alone You-Know-Who. How could you expect them to be able to fight him? Throw a…whaddayoucallit…fellytone at him?"

Hermione looked affronted, but before she could retort, Mrs. Weasly broke in.

"It's time to leave, everyone. Harry, dear, do you have everything? Ginny, where's your trunk? Hermione, don't forget Crookshanks! Ron, did you remember your broom? Hurry, everyone, we don't want you to miss your train!" In the ensuing bustle, Hermione barely had time to glare at Ron. By the time they reached King's Cross Station, the idea had been completely forgotten.

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	2. Chap 1: Through the Pillar

**Sufficiently Advanced Technology…**

**_…is indistinguishable from magic._**** – Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 1: Through the Pillar**

It was 10:30 on a bright Friday morning when the express train from Cardiff pulled into King's Cross Station in the heart of London. Tim Drake (aka Robin, the Boy Wonder) was returning from an unsuccessful information-gathering trip. He stepped out of the train onto Platform 9, and was faced with a mob of people seemingly moving in all directions at once. He moved out of the crush into the shelter of a pillar, and stood still for a moment to get his bearings. As he got himself oriented, something odd caught his eye.

It took him a minute to make sense out of what he had observed – it wasn't every day that people appeared to vanish into thin air. Or, more precisely, into solid brick pillars. However, after watching the incident repeat itself several times, he had to accept what his eyes were telling him. Every so often, a person would steer a luggage cart directly at one of the huge barriers separating Platforms 9 and 10. Instead of a spectacular crash, however, the cart and person would fade into the column and completely disappear.

'OK, this definitely merits investigation.' Tim thought. Spying a large group of people moving headlong toward the pillar, he insinuated himself into the tail end of the group. Sure enough, just before they reached it, the group smoothly separated into clusters of two or three individuals, which passed into the pillar one right after another. Tim made a split-second decision, and moved up until he was right behind the last person. "If they can do it, I ought to be able to," he thought to himself. Before 'himself' had time to scream '**_you idiot!_**' back to the other half of his brain, he was already into – and then through – the supposedly solid brick.

What he saw in front of him made his jaw drop. A large, ornate sign hanging overhead proclaimed **Platform 9 3/4 – Hogwarts Express**. The platform was crowded with people, mostly teenagers, boarding an old-fashioned steam train which stood on the tracks. Tim had barely time to absorb the sight when he heard a whistle and saw the train begin to move. Making another instantaneous decision, he hopped aboard the last car as it drew abreast of him. He would find out more about this very unusual train, its passengers, and its destination, before reporting back to Batman.

Once aboard the train, Tim walked from one car to the next. It was easier than he had expected to remain unnoticed, as the passengers were busy greeting one another, apparently discussing their summer vacations. Tim felt a sense of _déjà vu_. This was obviously a group of students returning to a boarding school, just as he had often done when his parents were absent on one of their many trips.

He caught snatches of conversation as he passed by open compartment doors.

"–seventy-five Muggles died in Yorkshire last week–"

"–I'm really nervous about Potions class." "You're always nervous about Potions, Neville. Wonder who's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year?"

"–my aunt lives in Devonshire, but it wasn't her village they hit–"

"–my first year at Hogwarts. Maybe I'll get into Ravenclaw–"

"–Cornwall was terrible. Over a hundred and fifty Muggles–"

"–I hear the dementors have joined up with You-Know-Who. The Dark Lord's more powerful than ever now, and–

"–what about those two villages near Edinburgh? Aren't you from that area–"

"–can't the Ministry do something about the Death Eaters?"

"–They can't do anything against the **_avada kedavra_** curse. One wand wave and it's done! Poof! Everyone dead!" This last voice sounded almost like it was…happy. Like it was…gloating.

After a couple of hours walking up and down the train, Tim's head was buzzing. He needed to process what he had overheard, so he ducked into a restroom to hide for a bit.

Putting together the scraps of information, he came to several tentative conclusions. First and foremost, these people believed in magic. Not stage magic sleight-of-hand, but the real, old-fashioned kind, with wands, incantations, potions and curses. And not as a special event, but as part of their daily lives.

Tim had seen magic before. Sometimes it was stored in objects such as Wonder Woman's lasso; sometimes it was actions performed by select individuals such as Jason Blood, Zatanna, and Dr. Fate. However, he had always understood that magical ability was very rare. He only knew of a few people who could work true magic. And most instances of magical working he was aware of required intense preparation and ceremony.

Tim had been taught, however, to follow the evidence wherever it led. Following the current evidence led him to a working first premise: magical ability was much more common than he – or any of his mentors – had suspected.

Second premise: magic was easy enough to perform that it could be taught like any other subject. In fact, there was a school that taught magic. It was called Hogwarts, and that was where this train was bound.

Next premise: although magical ability was common, it was not universal. Not everyone could work magic. Those who could were called witches and wizards (no surprise there!), while those who couldn't were called Muggles.

Sub-premise: Just like ordinary people, some witches and wizards were good, some were evil.

Last premise: there was one particular group of bad witches and wizards, called Death Eaters, led by a Dark Lord whose name everyone feared to speak. This group appeared to be responsible for the deaths that he, Batman, and Nightwing were investigating.

It was time – it was **_past_** time – to report to Batman. Tim activated his commlink.

"Robin to Batman."

No response. Just static. Tim tried again.

"Robin to Batman."

Nothing.

"Robin to Nightwing."

Still nothing. OK, time to reach out and touch someone.

"Robin to Oracle."

Static. Tim's eyebrows shot up.

Last resort.

"Robin to Watchtower." This had to work. Even if the satellites were down, the Watchtower had direct line-of-sight communication.

Nope.

This was **_not_** good.

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**


	3. Chap 2: This is Odd This is VERY Odd

**Sufficiently Advanced Technology…**

**_…is indistinguishable from magic._**** – Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 2: This is Odd – This is VERY Odd**

By the time the train pulled into its destination at Hogsmeade Station, Tim had had time to formulate a plan of action. Somehow he was going to have to talk with the people in authority at this school. If his conclusions were correct (as opposed to him simply being out of his mind – which by now he considered as a serious possibility!), he would have to convince them that everyone's best hope to stop the killings lay in Muggles and wizards joining forces.

Before that, though, he would have to scout out the lay of the land, so to speak. Among the other information he had gathered, lay the fact that some of the students were supporters, if not actual followers, of this Dark Lord. To simply come right out and announce himself could be disastrous. He would have to blend in until he could determine who could be trusted. And the best way to blend in with a group of teenage students would be to pose as one himself – maybe an exchange student? This might prove difficult, however, as by now everyone except him was dressed in black robes. He was just going to have to wing it.

Tim followed the other students off the train, trying to stay in the shadows as much as possible. Most of the students were moving in one direction, but he heard a loud voice calling, "Firs' years! Firs' year students, this way!" from the other end of the platform. He decided to head for the voice, as any confused new student would do.

Following the straggling pre-teens, Tim abruptly stopped in his tracks. Whoa! In front of him was a huge…man? Tim looked up…and up…and up. This guy was bigger than Blockbuster! Before Tim could move forward again, the man (giant?) turned and looked at him.

"You there – where's yer robe?"

Tim took a deep breath and plunged.

"I don't have one, sir. I'm an exchange student from America. They told me to catch the train to Hogwarts, but nothing else."

"Huh. Well, c'mon. Can't leave yuh here, can we? Headmaster'll know whut tuh do. By thuh way, I'm Hagrid."

Tim followed Hagrid and the first-year students down to a shoreline, where they all climbed into small boats. Tim didn't see the point of this, since the boats had no oars or motors, but he followed instructions. He was almost jolted out of his seat when the boat began to move. Regaining his composure (and his seat), he looked ahead to see twinkling lights in the windows of what appeared to be a large…castle?

'Giants, castles, witches and wizards – what next? Pointy hats?' he wondered. A few minutes later, he was answered – in the affirmative. The boat beached itself, and Tim found himself climbing a large set of stone stairs. At the top of the stairs stood a stern-looking woman dressed in dark green robes, wearing square glasses and…a pointed hat. Tim groaned inwardly.

"Thuh firs' years – and one extra, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid. The woman's eyebrows flew up, but she simply said, "Thank you, Hagrid. Follow me, please." She turned and walked into the castle.

By the time Tim entered the huge doorway, the professor was ushering the students through a smaller door down the hall. As Tim began to walk by her into the room, she pulled him aside and looked him sternly in the eye.

"Explain yourself, young man," she demanded.

'Man, this lady could give Alfred lessons,' Tim thought, as he began to babble the same explanation he had given to Hagrid.

"My name is Timothy Drake. I'm an exchange student from America. They told me to catch the train to Hogwarts, but they didn't tell me anything else, so I don't know what I'm supposed to do now."

The woman's lips thinned as she consulted a roll of paper…parchment?…in her hand.

"There's no mention of you on my list." She looked at Tim in irritation, but her face suddenly brightened as she caught sight of someone passing behind him.

"Oh, Professor Dumbledore, a moment of your time, if you would…" A man with long white hair and beard, dressed in ornate purple robes and hat, paused at her summons.

"Yes, Professor?"

"This young man came with the first-years. He says he's an exchange student but he's not on my list."

Tim suddenly found himself looking into the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen. The twinkle in them even outshone Dick Grayson's, and they were so sharp that Tim felt they could see all the way into his soul.

"Ah, yes, Timothy Drake from America. I'm afraid the Ministry must have slipped up again, Minerva. Mister Drake is a sixth-year student, who will be studying with us for a while. The Sorting Hat will know what to do with him."

The man looked down at Tim, who was trying desperately to pick his jaw up off the floor.

"Go ahead and get settled in tonight, Mister Drake. I'll let your family know you've arrived safely. Since tomorrow is Saturday, there will be no classes, so you and I can have a long discussion right after breakfast." Professor Dumbledore smiled kindly and winked at Tim, before proceeding down the hall. He suddenly stopped and turned back.

"Oh, yes, you'll be needing this tonight." He reached into his robes, pulled out a stick of wood, and waved it at Tim. Tim felt something like a breath of wind. Looking down at himself, he saw that he was now wearing a black robe over his clothes.

"Come in, come in, young man. We've wasted enough time already," Professor McGonagall ordered crisply. Controlling his shock (and his facial expression), Tim followed her into the small room.

A little while later, Tim stood at the front of the Hogwarts Great Hall, mind reeling. To abstractly decide that magic was commonplace was one thing. To see example after astonishing example treated casually as everyday routine by everyone else in the room was quite something else. The latest occurrence was a singing, talking hat. To be sure, all of the offhand 'magical' occurrences and items could easily have been created with technology, but that brought up a difficult question: Why would anyone bother? Who was there to impress? Not to mention that no special effect known could explain how Professor Dumbledore – the Headmaster of the school – had known Tim's name and place of origin, nor how he had made the robe currently on Tim's back appear out of thin air. And how did he plan to contact Bruce and Dick? Well, Tim supposed tiredly, figuring out the contact code details would be no big deal for a man who could divine Tim's background with a single glance.

He was jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of his name.

"Drake, Timothy!" As he walked forward, Professor McGonagall announced loudly, "Mr. Drake is a sixth-year student from America, who will be joining us this year." Following her impatient gesture, he sat on the stool, and she placed the tattered old hat on his head, completely covering his eyes.

"Well, well, what's this?" Tim had been prepared for something odd, and so he managed to suppress his reaction when a voice suddenly spoke in his ear. "Foreigner, huh? Very sharp mind – one of the sharpest I've ever experienced. And I have a great deal of experience, so that's saying a lot. You'd certainly fit right in in Ravenclaw…but no. You may have been born with cleverness, but you have chosen to be a hero for a long time now…so I think you'd best be in…**_GRYFFINDOR_**!"

The last word was shouted for the entire room to hear. The hat was swiftly whisked off his head, and he saw students at one of the tables cheering and beckoning to him. He got up and went to that table, and was enthusiastically pulled into a seat and welcomed by several people who appeared to be about his own age. Tim started to listen as they introduced themselves, but his attention was distracted when heaps of food suddenly appeared on all the dishes on the table. He hesitated momentarily, wondering if it was safe to eat, but everyone else was helping themselves. He was certainly hungry; the last time he'd eaten had been early that morning. So, with a mental shrug, he did what any sixteen-year-old kid would do – he dug in.

Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson (aka Batman and Nightwing) had been concerned about Tim's absence all day. He had not met them at their hotel at the planned time. Checking out train records revealed that he had, indeed, caught the express train from Southampton, but they could find no further trace of him. They couldn't raise him on his commlink. Oracle couldn't contact him. Even the Watchtower couldn't find any sign of him. It was as if he had disembarked from the train and promptly vanished. By the time they came back to the hotel after grabbing a quick dinner, they were both extremely worried.

"I don't know what I'm going to tell his father if anything happens to him," Bruce said as they entered the lobby. "His dad wasn't too keen on his coming along in the first place, and–" He broke off at the sound of his name being called from the front desk.

"Mr. Wayne!" The clerk was waving a piece of paper at him. "Telephone message for you, sir!" Bruce made a quick detour to accept the note, passing the clerk a generous tip in exchange. He scanned the message quickly, as Dick impatiently tried to read over his shoulder.

"So???"

"See for yourself," and Bruce breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he handed the note to Dick. Dick read it silently, looking puzzled.

_'Cass & I are fine. Unavoidably delayed. Found lots of cool stuff. Talk to you tomorrow morning. Tim.'_

As they rode the elevator upward, the two men looked at each other, but neither spoke until the door of their suite was locked behind them, and their miniature jamming system was engaged.

"Pretty cryptic, but since he had to send it unsecured, I suppose that makes sense. What do you make of it?" Dick asked.

"We know 'Cass & I' means it's from him, and that he's all right. The 'cool stuff' would indicate he's got a lead on the murders. The rest probably means exactly what it says. We won't hear from him until the morning."

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**


	4. Chap 3: Self Discovery

**Sufficiently Advanced Technology…**

**_…is indistinguishable from magic._**** – Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 3 – Self-Discovery**

Tim blinked at the sudden light that washed over his face as Ron Weasley yanked back the curtains on his four-poster bed.

"C'mon, sleepyhead, you'll miss breakfast," said Ron cheerfully, as Tim sat up in bed. He remembered now. After dinner the previous evening, his new house- and year-mates – the five other Griffindor sixth-year boys – had escorted him up moving staircases and through an opening guarded by a portrait of a large woman in a pink gown. The image had moved and spoken to them, acting very suspicious before it would allow them through. This, at least, Tim did not find unusual. It was very similar to Oracle's security in the Clocktower of Gotham City. The students escorted Tim through a common room and up to the dormitory he was apparently to share with them. At least, his name was on the door, and there was a bed for him in the chamber.

Looking around, Tim saw that he, Ron, and Harry Potter were the only ones now present in the room. Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnegan, and Dean Thomas had apparently already left for the Great Hall and food.

Tim climbed out of bed and went in search of his clothes. He didn't really want to wear the same clothes from the day before, but he didn't have much choice.

"What're you looking for?" Harry asked, after several seconds of watching Tim hunt.

"My clothes," Tim replied briefly.

"Try the trunk at the foot of your bed," was the helpful suggestion.

Trunk. What would his clothes be doing in a trunk this morning, when he had draped them over a chair last night? But since the clothes weren't anywhere in sight, Tim figured it couldn't hurt.

Sure enough, there they were. The really startling part, however, was that they had been cleaned and neatly folded. Even his sneakers were clean – and Tim hadn't thought that was possible.

"Who does the laundry around here, anyway?" Tim asked as he quickly dressed.

"House elves."

"How's what?"

"We'll take you to meet them later," Ron promised. "Right now, I'm hungry. Let's go already!"

Tim got another surprise at breakfast, when he heard what sounded like a rush of wind overhead. He looked up just in time to duck as a large horde of birds swept low over his head. After a moment, he realized that they were all owls. Like so much else in this place, this struck him as odd, since owls were not known for flying either in flocks or in the daytime, but he didn't have time to ponder it. A brown owl landed in front of his plate, and hooted as best it could around a scroll held in its beak. Speechless, Tim stared at the owl.

"Well, take it," Harry urged. Fearing for his fingers, Tim tentatively reached out and carefully took hold of the scroll. The owl let go, hooted again, and took off. Tim looked at Harry, who made unrolling motions. Tim opened the scroll to find a note summoning him to Professor Dumbledore's office immediately after breakfast. He looked at Harry again.

"I'm supposed to report to the Headmaster's office right now," he said. "How do I get there?"

"Doesn't the note say?" asked Harry.

Tim looked at the note again. "It just says 'Follow the arrow'."

"So follow the arrow."

Tim looked so confused that Harry took pity on him.

"Stand up and face the door."

Tim did so.

"Now look at the note."

Tim looked, and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. The decorative arrow at the top of the note, which had been pointing to the left, was now pointing straight ahead.

"Ooookaaaay."

Tim walked down the hall. As he walked out the door, he watched the arrow rotate like a compass needle, until it was pointing to the staircase. He continued to follow the arrow, and eventually found himself facing a stone gargoyle.

"Now what?" he said, not really sure if he expected an answer or not. He looked at the note again, and saw that the arrow had vanished. In its place were two words: Parrot Pastry. A password?

Tim sighed. Feeling rather foolish, he looked at the gargoyle and loudly said, "Parrot Pastry." Immediately the gargoyle moved and the wall opened to reveal a staircase spiraling slowly upward. Tim put a foot on the lowest step, just as if he were getting on an escalator, and was carried upward to a closed door. He lifted the brass griffin which served as a knocker, and dropped it. Instead of the loud 'clunk' he expected, there was a delicate musical chime. It was followed by a voice inviting him to enter.

He walked into the large office behind the door. He paid little attention to the many wondrous objects scattered throughout the room, as he was more interested in the man behind the desk. Professor Dumbledore rose to greet him, motioning him to take a seat.

"Well, Mr. Drake, you were not exactly what I was expecting when I cast _Professionalus Supportus_. Of course, I am not sure exactly what I was expecting. However, I believe you will do quite nicely. Yes, quite nicely, indeed."

Tim took a deep breath.

"Headmaster, I believe you may have me confused with someone else. My coming here was purely accidental."

"Are you not an investigator of crimes which baffle the ordinary authorities?"

"Yes, but–"

"Are you not skilled in reading meaning from the smallest pieces of evidence?"

"Yes, but–"

"Do you not have a large body of knowledge to rely upon?"

"Yes, but–"

"Are you not tireless in your pursuit of wrongdoers?"

"Yes, but–"

"Is it not your mission to protect innocents from evil?"

"Yes, but–"

"Do you not bring the offenders to justice?"

"Yes, but–"

"Well, then – you are exactly what I requested!"

Tim looked at the calmly smiling Headmaster. He tried again.

"But Headmaster – I don't belong here. I'm not even a wizard!"

"Yes, Mr. Drake, you are, in fact, a wizard."

"Uhh…I am?"

"You are."

Tim buried his face in his hands. Things were getting worse by the minute. He looked up as Dumbledore began to speak again.

"You could not have passed through the barrier at King's Cross Station if you were not a wizard, Mr. Drake. There are very few wizarding schools in America, and not all wizards in that country are invited to receive formal magical education. Especially, I regret to say, those such as yourself, who were born of non-wizarding parents. Has no one ever referred to you as a wizard?"

"Well, I've sometimes been called a computer wizard."

"And a computer is…?"

"An…instrument…used for storing, comparing and analyzing large amounts of information."

"And people have called you a wizard with respect to this…computer?"

"Yeah. Some people say I have a magical touch with them."

"_Quod Erat Demonstrandum_." The Headmaster smiled widely, and spread his hands in satisfaction.

Tim sighed in near-despair. He tried one last argument, without any real hope of success.

"But, Professor, I'm just an apprentice crimefighter."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even more brightly.

"Well, then, we have only one option. We must invite your mentor to join us."

****

Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson had remained in their hotel suite that morning, impatiently waiting to hear from Tim. As they finished their room service breakfast, they were startled by a loud tapping on the window glass. Dick and Bruce glanced at each other in surprise – Tim did not ordinarily enter via windows in the daytime – and turned to look at the window. Two pairs of black eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sight of a large owl rapping its beak on the glass. Dick went over to the window to see what was wrong with the bird, and noticed a large roll of paper tied to its leg.

"Bruce, you'd better come look at this."

Bruce rose to join him. After a close look at the owl, he reached out and threw the window open. The owl entered, flew once around the room, its wings barely missing the occupants' heads, and then landed on the table. It hooted once, and held out its leg. The two men looked at each other. Then Dick reached out and carefully detached the roll. Once its leg was free, the owl hooted again and flew back out the window.

"Ooookaaay." Dick unrolled the paper, to find that it was a large envelope. Opening the envelope, he pulled out two pieces of paper – no, _parchment_ – and a small pouch with a third piece of parchment attached to it. Recognizing Tim's handwriting on one of the parchments, Bruce snatched it and began to read. After a few moments, Dick looked at him quizzically.

"Well?"

"Listen and you'll learn." With that, Bruce sat down in a chair and began to read Tim's letter aloud.

_'Dear Bruce and Dick,_

_ Cass and I are now enrolled as students in – get this! – Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. (Apparently magic is much more common than any of us thought.) At any rate, we have learned that the murders are magically caused. The people here are just as anxious as we are to stop them, but they need our help. The enclosed parchment is an official invitation for you to come here in undercover roles. (Muggles are non-magic folk.) The pouch includes instructions how to get here._

_ Please come. It's really weird here, but I think these people – most of them – are trustworthy. By the way, electronic devices don't work here, which is why I didn't contact you yesterday. I'll tell you all about it when you get here. See you soon, I hope._

_ Tim_

Dick picked up the second parchment. This one was an ornate proclamation, offering Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson positions as Guest Lecturers in the Field of Muggle Studies, signed and sealed by Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Bruce reached for the pouch. Without opening it, he detached the small parchment on its side and read the instructions. His eyebrows flew up again, and he handed it to Dick. Dick scanned it, looked at Bruce, and mouthed the words, '_FLOO network_???'

Bruce shrugged. "Tim gave us the safe code, so I guess we take this at face value for now."

"So are we going?" Dick asked. He was rewarded by a Look from Bruce.

"What do you think?" Bruce got out of his chair and began to gather their things.

A few minutes later, they were standing in front of the suite fireplace, carrying their belongings. They looked at each other momentarily, and Dick quipped, "You did remember the burn ointment, didn't you – just in case?"

"Just follow the instructions," came the answering growl.

They each reached in the pouch and took out a handful of glittering powder.

"Here goes." Before Bruce could stop him, Dick threw the powder into the fire. The flames immediately turned bright green and rose to the top of the fireplace. Dick stepped into the green fire, called loudly and clearly, "Hogwarts School, Headmaster's Office," and vanished in a swirl of smoke. Bruce followed suit.

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**


	5. Chap 4: Arrivals & Explanations

**Sufficiently Advanced Technology…**

**_…is indistinguishable from magic._****    –  Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 4 – Arrivals and Explanations**

Tim Drake's head suddenly jerked up at the sound of a commotion in – of all places – Professor Dumbledore's office fireplace.  His astonishment was quickly followed by a sense of intense relief as he watched Dick Grayson tumble gracefully out of the fireplace and roll to his feet in a defensive stance.  A moment later, Bruce also emerged, albeit somewhat more clumsily, from the hearth, and looked around warily.

"You came!" Tim exclaimed in delight, leaping out of his chair by the desk.

"Did you have any doubts, Short Stuff?" Dick asked, relaxing and ruffling Tim's hair.

"What are you doing in that outfit?" Bruce asked, jutting his chin at Tim's robe.

"It's a long story," Tim began, when he was interrupted by Professor Dumbledore stepping forward.

"Welcome, Mr. Wayne and Mr. Grayson, welcome to Hogwarts.  I am Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.  Won't you sit down?  As Mr. Drake has said, it is a long story, and I always find long stories go much better with tea."  The elderly man casually waved the stick in his hand, and a complete silver and china tea service appeared on his ornate desk.  Bruce and Dick's eyebrows shot up again.  Tim, however, appeared completely at ease, taking this oddity completely in stride.

"Come, come, seat yourselves.  Mr. Wayne, how do you take your tea?"

Bruce studied him carefully, before stepping forward to sit in one of the three chairs in front of the desk.

"Just lemon, thanks."

"And you, Mr. Grayson?"

"Cream and two sugars, please."  Dick, who had been introduced to tea by Bruce's English butler Alfred, also sat down, leaving Tim to reclaim his original chair.

"Mr. Drake, would you also like tea, or have you a preference for pumpkin juice?"

"Tea, thanks – just sugar."

Dumbledore finished pouring tea for them all before sitting down behind the desk.

"Now," he said briskly. "To business."  The affable twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes suddenly vanished, replaced by the sharp, focused gaze Tim had seen the night before. All three crimefighters suddenly came to alert, recognizing a fellow warrior.

"The first thing I must explain is that, as Mr. Drake said in his letter, magic is much more prevalent and commonplace than most non-magical people such as yourselves believe.  Although we live in the same world as you, we take pains to keep ourselves inconspicuous, as most Muggles are rather… intolerant… of us."

Bruce nodded.

"People have always attacked those whom they see as different," he said.

"Precisely,"  Dumbledore agreed.  "And that goes both ways.  There are both good and evil people in the wizarding community, just as there are in the Muggle community.  Mr. Drake and Mr. Grayson are too young, but you, Mr. Wayne, might remember a series of unexplained attacks on people in England about twenty years ago."

"Yes, I do.  The criminals were never found, and the attacks stopped abruptly about fifteen years ago."

"Yes.  Those attacks, like the recent ones, were perpetrated for amusement and terror by a group of powerful, evil wizards called Death-Eaters.  Their leader is Lord Voldemort, the most powerful Dark Wizard in history."

Dick broke in at this point.  "So why did the attacks stop for fifteen years?"

"Because, Mr. Grayson, fifteen years ago Voldemort met his match in a young boy named Harry Potter."

Tim gasped.

"Harry Potter – the same Harry Potter who shares my dormitory?  That's impossible, Professor – he'd have just been a baby fifteen years ago!"

"You are correct, Mr. Drake.  Harry Potter's parents were members of the Order of the Phoenix, a secret organization working against Lord Voldemort.  When he found their hiding place, the Potters gave their lives to save their baby son.  After Voldemort used the Killing Curse on them, he tried to use it on Harry, but it rebounded on him and almost destroyed him.  It did destroy his body, leaving him locked powerless in spirit form.  Lily & James' sacrifices not only saved Harry, but many others as well."

Dumbledore stopped speaking and looked closely at the three seated opposite him.  Bruce Wayne had closed his eyes, and there was an expression of old pain on his face, while Dick's face was set like stone.  Tim also looked very unhappy.

"Gentlemen?"  Dumbledore sounded worried.

Tim looked at Bruce and Dick.  Receiving an almost imperceptible nod from Dick, he turned to Dumbledore.

"Both Bruce and Dick lost their parents to criminals when they were young boys, and my mother was murdered a few years ago.  It's the reason we're crimefighters today," he explained.

Dumbledore exhaled slowly.  "So," he said.  "It appears there was more than one reason why you were summoned in answer to my spell."

"Spell?"  Bruce had refocused on the matter at hand.

"A moment, Mr. Wayne.  Allow me to finish my explanation, and all will, I hope, become clear."  Bruce nodded, and Dumbledore continued.

"When Voldemort fell, and subsequently disappeared, his Death Eaters were thrown into confusion.  Many of them were caught and sent to Azkaban, the wizard prison; the rest went into hiding, and the wizard community was peaceful for a number of years.  Unfortunately, things began to go wrong about two and a half years ago.  One of Voldemort's main supporters was able to locate and return to him.  Between the two of them, they freed a third, and began to set events in motion to return Lord Voldemort to power."

"But how could they return him to power if he's only a spirit?" asked Tim.

"It required a massive exercise of Dark Magic, which involved the kidnapping and torture of Harry Potter, as well as the killing of one of our other students.  Voldemort was returned to physical form, magical powers restored, slightly over a year ago.  Since then, he has been regathering his Death Eaters and reviving his campaign of terror.  You have only heard of the killings in the Muggle world, but there have been many wizards murdered as well."

"This still doesn't explain why you want us here," rumbled Bruce.

"Because I have come to the conclusion that we cannot stop him by ourselves.  The Order of the Phoenix was revived as soon as I heard he had returned, but the Ministry of Magic disapproved.  They did not wish to alarm the public, and so for a year they denied that anything was wrong.  This gave Voldemort time to consolidate his forces and recruit others to his cause."

"Typical government response," Dick snorted.  Dumbledore glanced at him, and an expression of amusement briefly flickered over his face.

"You have had experience with government, I take it," he said mildly.  All three grimaced in wordless response.

"To continue…our major problem is that there are no magical weapons effective against Voldemort.  He is incapable of being killed by magical means, or, as far as we can tell, by ordinary physical means – his experiments in the Dark Arts have effectively rendered him immortal.  A means must be found of removing his power, and I believe it will have to be a non-magical technique.  Since we have no experts in what your folk call 'technology', I decided it was time to call for aid.  At dawn yesterday morning, I cast a spell requesting professional assistance from those who would be best equipped to help us defeat him.  Mr. Drake arrived on the Hogwarts Express from London last night.  I was able to detect that he is a crimefighter, and enrolled him as an 'exchange student'.  In our discussion this morning, however, he made it clear that he is only an apprentice, so I thought it best to invite his mentor to join us as well – and here you are.  Will you help us stop this madman before he destroys both our worlds?"

Dumbledore fell silent.

Bruce, Dick and Tim shared a glance.

"Well, this is what we were sent here to do, isn't it?"  Dick said.

"That's kinda what I thought," Tim agreed.

Bruce was silent for a moment longer, running over the information in his mind.

"It certainly appears that way,"  he said at last.  He looked at Dumbledore.  "Tim and Dick will tell you that I prefer working alone, but there are times when that just isn't practical, and this is obviously one of those times."  He sighed.  "So, the first thing is to get us established in roles that will enable us to function here.  Professor, I believe that would be your department…"

"Well, then, the first thing would be to get you and Mr. Grayson settled in and introduced as teachers of Muggle studies – that is, the world of non-magic folk.  While we do that, I can have a couple of our prefects escort Mr. Drake to get his wizarding supplies."

"Wait a minute…his **_what_**?!" Dick asked.

"The equipment he will need to function as a student wizard,"  Dumbledore explained patiently.

"Tim is not a wizard," stated Bruce.

"Actually, he is, as I discovered last night.  Otherwise he would not have been able to board the train yesterday."

This declaration startled even Bruce out of his normal imperturbability.  He and Dick both turned to stare at Tim, who shrugged helplessly.

"Don't look at me, guys.  All I ever planned on being was a **_computer_** wizard."

Bruce's eyes narrowed and he turned back to Dumbledore.  "Does one have to do with the other?"

"It would not surprise me, Mr. Wayne.  That may be how Mr. Drake's talent manifests itself.  Now, if you will excuse me for a moment…"  Dumbledore reached in his desk and pulled out two small tightly-rolled pieces of parchment.  He then held his arm above his head.  A moment later a beautiful bird, gloriously plumaged in bright red and gold, soared in to land on the outstretched arm.  Dumbledore brought the bird down to his desk, and held out the two small parchment scrolls.  The bird extended his wings and flapped into a hover, took one scroll in each claw, and disappeared in a flash of flame.  A few moments later he reappeared, settling back down onto his perch.

Dumbledore looked at his guests.

"To answer the question I see in your eyes, this is Fawkes, my phoenix.  He went to summon your escorts, Mr. Drake. I expect they will be here momentarily."

"What a beautiful creature," Dick breathed, an awed look on his face.  "I've never seen anything like him…will he allow me to touch him?"

"He loves to be scratched beneath his neck feathers,"  Dumbledore smiled.

Dick rose to his feet and slowly approached the phoenix's perch, moving as if mesmerized.  He carefully raised his hand and, seeing that the bird showed no signs of aggression or defense, eased his fingers beneath the neck feathers and gently began to scratch.  Fawkes trilled in delight and leaned his head against Dick's chest rapturously.  He was clearly prepared to let Dick continue stroking him for the next several hours, or perhaps days.

After a few minutes, Dick looked back at the others.  To their amazement, he had tears in his eyes.  He blinked rapidly, gave Fawkes a final rub, and returned to his seat.

"He is magnificent," he said quietly.  "You are a lucky man, Professor."

"I know,"  Dumbledore returned softly.  Then he looked up at a knock at his door.

"Come in!" he called brightly.  The door opened and two students familiar to Tim walked in.

"You wanted to see us, Headmaster?" the girl asked.

"Yes, thank you.  Mr. Drake, you will no doubt remember Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger?"  Tim nodded.  He remembered being introduced to Hermione last night.

"Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are two of our school prefects."  He turned to Ron and Hermione.  "I would appreciate it if you would escort Mr. Drake to Diagon Alley and help him purchase his school supplies.  He did not get a chance before catching the Hogwarts Express."

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore."

"Excellent!"  He handed Hermione two pouches and a piece of parchment.  "Here is a list of what he will need, some money, and a supply of Floo Powder for your travel and return.  Off with you, now!

Ron reached out and hauled Tim out of his seat.

"Come on, Tim!" he said, pulling him over to the fireplace.  "Traveling by Floo Powder is easy."

Tim looked back at Bruce and Dick rather desperately.  "But…"

"And be back before lunch, so you can officially meet our two new teachers!"  Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at the three teenagers, before he turned to the two adults.

"Now, gentlemen, let us discuss the subjects you are to teach, before we get you settled in your new quarters…"

**_TO BE CONTINUED… _**


	6. Chap 5: A Robin, an Owl, and a Bat

**_Sufficiently Advanced Technology…_**

**_…is indistinguishable from magic._****    –  Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 5 – A Robin, an Owl and a Bat**

When the back wall of the Leaky Cauldron opened onto Diagon Alley, Tim's first thought was that he had stumbled into some arcane version of Disneyland.  The street was narrow and cobblestoned, lined with quaint shops, and crowded with people in robes of every color.  Items for sale ranged from cauldrons and broomsticks to toads and cats.  Tim hadn't any idea where to go; luckily, Hermione and Ron did.  In short order, they had whisked him into (and then out of) Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Flourish and Blotts Bookstore, an apothecary, a magical instruments store, and a cauldron shop, half-seriously bickering almost constantly as they went.

"Are we done yet?"  Tim asked plaintively.  "I'm running out of arms!"   Indeed, his arms were full of packages, and he didn't see how he could possibly carry any more stuff.

"Almost!"  said Hermione brightly.  "We just have to pick up your wand and your animal."

"My wand and my **_what_**?"

"Your animal,"  answered Ron. "You know – your owl or cat or toad or whatever.  Everyone needs an animal.  Didn't wizards have animals at your old school?"

"Not very many," answered Tim evasively.  It was evident that he would have to accept having a pet as part of his undercover role.

"Mr. Ollivander's first, Ron," said Hermione in exasperation.  "Really, you have no sense of priorities."

"Well, I like that!" said Ron huffily.  "And I suppose you do?"

Tim intervened quickly, hoping to head off yet another snarling match between his two escorts.

"Um…which way to Mr. Ollivander's?"

Hermione turned away from Ron.  "It's down this way," she replied.

>>>>>>>>

Tim was quickly becoming bored.  By now, he felt as if he had waved at least fifty or sixty wands in the air, with no more result than waving so many pieces of kindling.  He handed the latest one back to Mr. Ollivander.

To his surprise, the tall, thin man didn't immediately hand him another wand.  Instead he focused his large eyes intently on Tim, obviously thinking hard.  After a few silent moments, he went to the back of his shop, pulled down a dust-covered box from a high shelf, opened it, and took out a wand of a light-colored, intricately-grained wood.  Returning to the three teenagers, he handed the wand to Tim.

"Try this one, Mr. Drake."

Tim suppressed a sigh and waved the wand, not really expecting anything to happen, so he was startled when green and blue sparks flew out of the end.

"Aha!" exclaimed Mr. Ollivander in satisfaction.  "You are a very unusual wizard, Mr. Drake!"

"In what way, Mr. Ollivander?" interjected Hermione.  Then, catching both Tim and Ron looking at her, she turned pink.

"Well, Professor Dumbledore is going to want to know," she declared in self-defense.  Turning back to the shop owner, she waited for an answer.

"Maple wood, 11.811 inches, centaur tail hair core.  Wands with this core are very rare.  They only select wizards who have a special talent at detecting and interpreting obscure patterns.  I haven't sold one of these for many years now.  I'll be very interested in following your career at Hogwarts, Mr. Drake."

"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander," Tim replied, as Hermione paid for the wand, and Mr. Ollivander wrapped it up in its box for transport.  Ron breathed a sigh of relief as they walked out of the store.

"Finally!" he said.  "Eeylops Owl Emporium, here we come!"

>>>>>>>>

Tim walked up and down the aisles of cages and perches, looking at all the owls.  It seemed that every kind of owl in existence was represented here, and all of them were hooting loudly.  Snowy owls, eagle-owls, pygmy owls, barn and brown and burrowing owls, owls of every size and color gazed unblinkingly back at him.  Some of the owls swiveled their heads around to watch him as he passed by, but none of them really seemed to stand out to him.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a large shape swooping at him from above.  He instinctively ducked as silent wings brushed his face; then a weight landed on his shoulder and a soft hooting sounded in his ear.  He turned his head to see a great horned owl preening its feathers as it settled, obviously not planning on being dislodged from its new perch any time soon.

"What are you going to name it?" Ron asked.  Tim raised an eyebrow.  "Well, that owl obviously wants you, so…" and Ron spread his hands as if the conclusion was self-evident.

"Well, I'm certainly not going to name it 'Horny', " Tim quipped.  Both Hermione and Ron choked with shocked laughter…this was the first time all day Tim had shown any sense of humor.

"I think I'll call it…Midnight," he continued.  He turned to the owl on his shoulder.  "What do you think of that, Midnight?" he asked.  The owl chirruped, reached out with its beak, and nibbled gently on his ear.  "I guess that settles it – Midnight it is."

>>>>>>>>

The three students walked wearily back to the Leaky Cauldron.  It had been a tiring morning, and they were looking forward to lunch. Hermione and Ron had split the packages between them, leaving Tim to carry Midnight's cage.  Just before they reached the brick wall concealing the magic entranceway, they heard a loud flapping sound.  All three ducked this time, as a set of leathery wings flashed by, and something settled on Tim's shoulder for the second time that day.  He tried to focus on it, but it kept moving, flexing its wings and alternating its stance from one foot to the other, so he couldn't get a clear look at it.  He did, however, get a very clear look at the shock on Ron's and Hermione's faces.

"Bloody hell," gasped Ron.  "I've never seen a bat that big!  Wonder what it wants with you, mate…I mean, you've already got an owl."

Tim put down the owl cage.

"**_SHOO!_**" he said forcefully, waving his hands at the bat on his shoulder.  The bat flapped its wings to keep its balance, but didn't let go of Tim's robe.  Further efforts by all three of them to dislodge it proved just as futile.

"Well," said Hermione finally.  "I guess you've got two animals, Tim.  This one obviously plans to stick with you, too."

Tim just sighed in resignation and picked up the owl's cage again.  Midnight gazed up at the bat and hooted reproachfully at Tim.

"Sorry, Midnight.  This really **_wasn't_** what I had in mind."

>>>>>>>>

Hermione, Tim, and Ron stumbled, one after another, out of the fireplace into Professor Dumbledore's office again, and brushed the soot off themselves as the Headmaster looked up from his desk.

"Ah, you have returned in good time," he said pleasantly. "If Miss Granger will take Mr. Drake's new owl to the Owlery, and Mr. Weasley will convey the rest of the purchases to the dormitory, Mr. Drake and I can talk a little more, and then we can all adjourn to the Great Hall.  Lunch will be served shortly, and I am sure you are all looking forward to it.  I know I am."

"Yes, Headmaster." Hermione let Midnight out of the cage, took the owl onto her shoulder and left.  Ron levitated the cage and packages, and then reached out for the bat, but it refused to be separated from Tim.  After a few moments of struggling with it, the two boys looked at each other and shrugged.  Ron headed for the dorm, the packages bobbing along behind him in a wobbly line, and Tim returned his attention to Dumbledore, who was patiently waiting.

"Now, Mr. Drake, I am sure you would like to see where your comrades are and what they are doing.  If you will come with me, I will escort you to their rooms."  The Headmaster turned and swept out the door to the spiraling stair, his robes billowing behind him, Tim following in their wake.

As they rode the stair downward, Dumbledore spoke again.

"By the way, Mr. Drake, should you or your mentors need someone to speak with, you will find that Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Harry Potter are most trustworthy and knowledgeable individuals."  Tim digested this in silence. They reached the bottom and Dumbledore led the way to one of the castle's towers.

"Mr. Wayne requested rooms with, shall we say, discreet access to the castle grounds.  This seemed a reasonable choice of location," he explained to Tim as they climbed the stairs.  He knocked at a wooden door on the second landing, and Dick, now dressed in midnight–blue and black robes, opened the door.

"Oh, good, you're…"  Dick broke off.  "Tim, what on earth is that on your shoulder?"

"Looooong story."  Tim moved past Dick into the room, heading for the nearest chair as Bruce turned from the window.  "You wouldn't believe what else I–**_hey!_**"

The bat had launched itself from his shoulder.  Tim grabbed for it, but it easily evaded his grasp, flying straight for Bruce.  Bruce ducked, but fast as he was, the bat was faster. It landed on the shoulder of his black–and–grey robes and dug its claws into the fabric.  Dick and Tim stared open-mouthed for a moment, then Tim burst out laughing.

"It didn't want me after all…it wanted you!" he gasped, leaning back in the chair.  Bruce favored him with one of his trademark glares.

"**_Excuse me?!_**" he growled, trying to loosen the bat's hold on his robe.  It refused to release him, however, and Bruce's continuing attempts only served to tangle its claws more securely in the cloth.  By now both Dick and Tim were laughing so hard tears were leaking from their eyes.  Bruce looked at Dumbledore, who stood placidly smiling in the doorway.

"You may not be a wizard, Mr. Wayne, but it appears that you have, nonetheless, acquired a familiar," he observed calmly.  "I would recommend that you give it a name, and then we can all go down to lunch."

Bruce sighed.

"So what are you going to call it?" Tim asked, managing to get control of himself.  But before Bruce could answer, Dick interrupted.

"Only one possible name for this creature, Timbo," he choked out.  "Bruce, let me introduce you to your new friend – **_Shadow_**."

Bruce rolled his eyes as the two young men collapsed on the floor in helpless gales of laughter.

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**


	7. Chap 6: New Professors, New Allies

**_Sufficiently Advanced Technology…_**

**_…is indistinguishable from magic._****    –  Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 6 – New Professors, New Allies **

Professor McGonagall chimed her spoon on the side of her glass for attention, and Professor Dumbledore rose to address the assembled students.

"Before our usual excellent lunch appears on our plates and we eat ourselves into our customary Saturday-afternoon stupor, I would like to take this opportunity to welcome two newly arrived professors to Hogwarts, and introduce two new subjects to our school curriculum.  It appears that for the foreseeable future, our world will be interacting more closely with the Muggle world, and so these new subjects will be mandatory for all students. Professor Bruce Thomson will be teaching the subject of Muggle Sciences…"

Bruce rose fron his seat and inclined his head to the students' polite applause.

"…while Professor Richard Johnson will instruct you all in Self-Defense in a Muggle World."  Dick stood up and performed a flamboyant bow, resulting in a slightly more enthusiastic welcome.

"You will receive your new schedules on Monday morning,"  Dumbledore concluded.  "Having completed this special announcement, we now return you to your normally scheduled meal."  He sat down and began to converse with Professor McGonagall, as the food and drink appeared in their usual manner.

>>>>>>

Long after 'lights out', Tim lay awake in his bed, trying to be patient. He was waiting for the other boys to fall asleep, so that Robin could meet Batman and Nightwing to do some basic reconnaissance. Finally all was quiet in the dorm, and Tim could proceed.  Having had extensive practice in sneaking out while at Brentwood Academy, it took him only a few minutes to change into costume, get down the side of the dormitory tower, and slip through the shadows to the prearranged rendezvous point.

"Report."  Batman's deep growl came out of the darkness.  Oddly, Tim found the curtness rather comforting.  After all the strangeness of the last two days, Batman's normal abruptness came as a relief, giving Robin a familiar grounding point.

"The magical ban on technology is active within a four-mile radius of the castle.  It covers all electronics, whether local or remote,"  Robin began.

"That explains why the castle hasn't been spotted by any of the spy satellites," Nightwing interjected thoughtfully.

"Anything that's purely chemical, or that relies on simple mechanics or lenses, seems to function normally.  However, nothing electric will work, even if it's battery-powered."

"So flashlights won't work, but our gas pellets and jumplines will,"  Batman said.  "This also explains why our mask night-vision lenses work, but our tracking and targeting optics don't.  Our laser cutting torches won't work, either, but the mini-chemical torches should.  Nightwing, you and I will have to do some experimenting with our utility belt devices tomorrow.  Robin, we'll let you know what we learn."

"Why can't I help?"  Robin asked, affronted at being left out.

Batman fixed him with a glare Robin could sense even without night-vision lenses.

"What reason would Tim Drake have to be hanging around with two teachers on a Sunday?"  he demanded.  Robin subsided with a wordless mutter of disgust.

"By the way, Robin, how did you learn all that stuff?  I got the impression that these wizards didn't understand any of our technology," Nightwing asked as an afterthought.

"You remember meeting Hermione Granger this morning?  Her parents aren't wizards, so she didn't even know anything about magic until she was accepted at Hogwarts.  She was raised as an ordinary person.  She kind of reminds me of you, Batman," – this earned Robin a raised eyebrow – "she reads everything she can get her hands on, she tries to learn as much as possible about any subject that interests her, and she remembers all of it.  I was hanging out with her, Ron and Harry Potter this afternoon. When I asked a question about why the castle doesn't have electric lights, I got chapter and verse on what works and what doesn't work here, and why.  What we rely on technology for, they do with spells and charms."  Robin explained.

"This isn't getting our work done," Batman observed pointedly.  "We need to find out if anyone is moving around the castle grounds late at night."

"Other than us, you mean?" Nightwing quipped.  Batman favored him with the twin of the glare he had given Robin.

"Move out, but stay together for now, and watch out for anything unusual."

Tim thought of asking what they should consider 'unusual'.  However, after thinking about Batman's probable reaction to that question, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

>>>>>>

Harry woke up out of one of his unfortunately-too-frequent nightmares.  He sat up, gasping and fumbling for his glasses.  Putting them on, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a corner of the sheet, and got up to pour himself a glass of water.  As he returned to bed, he noticed something that stopped him in his tracks.  The hangings on Tim's bed were pulled open, Tim's pajamas were lying on top of the blankets, and Tim himself was nowhere in sight.  Harry quickly moved to Ron's bed and shook him.

"Ron…Ron!" he hissed.

"Wha…whazzup?" Ron muttered sleepily.  "Harry…what's wrong?"  He sat up, suddenly wide awake.  Harry pointed at Tim's empty bed.

"You woke me up because he just went to the loo?" Ron asked exasperatedly.  "Ssshhh!" Harry said, holding up Tim's pajamas.

"Uh, oh."  The two boys looked at each other.

"You don't think…he wouldn't be…part of…You-Know-Who's crowd…would he?" Ron asked worriedly.

"I don't think so," Harry said slowly.  "The Hat put him in Griffindor, remember.  I don't think it'd have done that if he were one of Voldemort's followers.  But he could be in trouble.  He doesn't know the castle.  He could stumble onto something dangerous completely by accident.  We'd better find him."  He grabbed his wand off his nightstand, muttering "_Lumos_" under his breath. Then he went to his trunk, rummaged in the bottom for a moment, and pulled out a piece of seemingly blank parchment.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he whispered, tapping the parchment with his wand.  Slowly the parchment's surface darkened with a detailed map.  Moving dots appeared at various places on the map, each labeled with a person's name.  The Marauder's Map had been given to Harry by Fred and George Weasley during Harry's third year at Hogwarts.  It was a complete and accurate map of Hogwarts castle and its grounds, and it showed the name and precise location of everyone moving on the premises. It had proven invaluable to Harry many times in the last three years.

"There he is!" said Ron, gazing over Harry's shoulder.  "But what's he doing out there?  He'll get hiimself killed!"

"And who's that with him?" Harry added.

A dot labeled with Tim's name was moving slowly in the vicinity of the Whomping Willow.  There were two other dots beside him, each labeled with an unfamiliar name.  The boys looked at each other again.

"I'll get the cloak.  You send a message to wake up Hermione," said Harry, rummaging in his trunk again.  Ron grabbed his own wand, flicked it with a peculiar counterclockwise double loop, muttered, "_Alertus Commence…_Hermione, get dressed and meet us in the common room right away. We've got trouble, and need to go outside. And don't argue!_…Alertus Finis…**Hermione Granger**__…Alertus Transit!"_ He flicked the wand again.  Then he quickly pulled on his clothes, picked up his shoes, and tiptoed down to the common room after Harry.

Hermione woke up with Ron's voice sounding in her ear.  She listened to his message completely through, and scowled.  As the message began to repeat itself, she waved her own wand, quietly murmuring, "_Alertus Receptus._"  Then she, too, quickly and quietly dressed, and left the dormitory without waking her roommates.

Meeting the other two in the common room, she began to demand an explanation.  But before she could get a sound out of her open mouth, Ron shoved the Marauder's Map under her nose.  Her gaze followed his pointing finger, and she looked shocked for a moment.  Then she looked up to see Harry holding up his Invisibility Cloak.  The three of them wasted no time getting under the cloak, slipping out of the portrait hole, and creeping silently out of the castle.

They hurried across the grounds, moving as fast as they could while still staying under the cloak. As they neared the Whomping Willow, Harry could just make out three dark shadows moving stealthily against the deeper darkness of the hillside just ahead of them.  He could also see the limbs of the Willow beginning to tremble and sway, as if in a high wind.

Ron's foot hit a rock, and the moving shadows froze.  But they were too close to the tree!  There was nothing for it…Harry took a deep breath and yelled, "Hit the deck!"  The shadowy figures responded instantly, diving for the ground as the deadly tree limbs whipped by overhead.

Harry, Ron and Hermione stopped just outside the tree's range.  There was nothing more they could do.  They couldn't see the others against the dark ground, but they could see the branches swinging wildly about.

"I hope they make it out," whispered Hermione in a shaking voice.  "They–**AIEEEE**!"  Her voice rose to a shriek as she was thrown to the ground and someone landed on top of her.  Harry and Ron were knocked down simultaneously, and for a moment there were six people tangled in the Invisibility Cloak.  Then Harry, Ron and Hermione were firmly pinned in place, and the cloak was stripped off of them.

"We need some light on the situation," a low voice rumbled.  Hermione was in complete agreement with that sentiment. She was still clasping her wand in her hand, and managed to gasp out "_Lumos!_"  A gauntleted hand clamped over her mouth just in time to muffle her scream as the wand flared and she caught sight of the black-masked figure holding her down.

"Hermione!"  a familiar voice exclaimed.  "Ron!  Harry!  It's all right, Batman.  They're friends."  The figure pinning Hermione seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded.  He rose to his feet and held a hand down to help her up.  She took it apprehensively and climbed to her feet, then nervously drew a little closer to Harry and Ron.

The three Hogwarts students found themselves facing three men in totally outlandish costumes. The largest wore black and grey tights, with an emblem of a bat centered on his chest. His head and upper face were covered by a cowl resembling the head of a bat – complete with pointed ears.  His black cape, apparently cut to resemble a bat's wings, fell in jagged folds to his boots, and he wore black gauntlets. Most frightening of all, his eyes were white – just…white.

The second man was slightly shorter and much slimmer than the bat-costumed man.  His costume was almost entirely black, with the exception of a V-shaped swath of cobalt blue across the chest, and matching blue stripes down the sleeves to the fingertips of his gauntlets.  He wore no cape, and didn't have a cowl over his wavy black hair, simply a black mask with also-just-white eyes.

The third man was smaller than either of the others, and his costume was, in some ways, the strangest of the three.  At least the other two were dressed for sneaking around in the dark.  This one's outfit consisted of a bright red leotard over emerald-green tights.  His mask and gloves were green to match the tights, and his boot-length cape was black with a gold lining.  He wore a stylized yellow '**_R_**' emblem on the left side of his chest, and a matching yellow belt.  His hair was spiky and black.

Ron took a closer look at the man in red and green, suddenly realizing that he was younger than he had first thought.  He appeared to be a boy about Ron's own age.  In fact**…**

"**_Tim?!?!_**" Ron exclaimed incredulously. "Is that you?"  The colorful boy didn't answer at first, but looked to the bat-clad man, who sighed.  Apparently taking that sigh as permission to speak, the boy turned back to Ron.

"Yeah, it's me," Tim acknowledged.  "What are you guys doing out here, anyway?  I thought you weren't allowed out of the castle after dark."

That was the last straw. "Keeping you from getting yourself killed!" snapped Hermione.

Before Tim could respond, the bat figure spoke in a deep, raspy growl.  "We had no need of you."

"Oh, really?" retorted Harry.  He lit his own wand and pointed it at the Whomping Willow, whose branches were now madly whacking the ground with lethal force, leaving deep ruts in their wake.

The bat-man's eyes narrowed.  "Point taken."

Tim spoke again, trying to calm things down.  "So how did you know we were out here?  And how did you get this close without our seeing you?"

Hermione responded by asking a question of her own.  "More to the point, who are they and what are they doing at Hogwarts?"

"What difference does it make?" answered the blue-and-black-costumed man, who had been quiet until then.

"It makes a lot of difference!  Unless we know who you are and if you can be trusted, we're not telling you anything!"  answered Ron angrily.

This time it was Tim who sighed.  "They're the two new teachers," he answered.

"No, they're not!"  exclaimed Harry and Ron in unison.  Tim raised an eyebrow, as Harry continued, "Don't lie to us.  The new teachers aren't named Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson."

All three costumed figures stiffened.

"And where did you hear those names?"

The bat's voice, already impossibly deep, had dropped another octave, sending shivers down the students' spines.  But they stubbornly held their ground.

"Not until you tell us who you really are," insisted Harry.  Ron and Hermione nodded in firm support.

The other three looked at each other again for a long minute.

"I don't think there's any other way," said Tim finally. "And Professor Dumbledore told me this morning that if we needed any help, they were the ones to go to.  He said they were 'most trustworthy and knowledgeable' – and we're going to need both."

"I agree, Batman.  We're obviously going to need their help," the second man added, with a glance back at the angry tree.

Batman – by now the name was obvious – sighed in resignation.  "Agreed."  All three of them reached up and pulled off their masks.

Harry, Ron and Hermione stared in amazement.  They **_were_** the two new teachers whom Dumbledore had presented earlier that day – by different names!

"I guess we should introduce ourselves, even though you already know our civilian names," said Tim.  "I'm Robin, this is Batman, and this is Nightwing."

Ron didn't react to the names, but Hermione's and Harry's jaws dropped.

"I've heard of Batman and Robin…on the news," Hermione whispered.  Harry nodded.

"Yeah, you guys are superheroes from…some big city in America,"  he said.

"Come to think of it…" continued Hermione, "I've heard of Bruce Wayne, too."  She looked at Batman.  "Aren't you the…fourth wealthiest man in the world?"  Batman said nothing.  Tim just smiled and continued his introductions.

"Batman, Nightwing, this is Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter. They're sixth-year students in Gryffindor house – and my classmates."

Nightwing acknowledged the introductions with a nod. "So how did you find out our names, anyway?" he asked.

Harry held out the Marauder's Map for them to see.  Batman's blue eyes narrowed again. Without his cowl on, the expression wasn't as frightening, but it was still intimidating.

"Does everyone have one of these?" he asked menacingly.

"Oh, no," said Harry quickly. "There's only one in existence.  My father and his three friends developed it when they were students here. And watch…"  He tapped the parchment with his wand. "Mischief managed."  Batman's scowl eased as the parchment faded to blankness.

"Aside from my two older brothers, no one else knows how to activate it," added Ron.

"And how did you sneak up on us?  Not many people can manage that," Nightwing continued.

Harry reached down and picked up a large piece of silvery-grey cloth from the ground.  "With this," he informed them.

Nightwing looked at the fabric and raised an eyebrow.  "And this is…"

"An Invisibility Cloak.  It belonged to my father."

Nightwing's other eyebrow rose to join the first.  Harry answered the unspoken challenge, swirling the cloak out and draping it over himself.

"I see. Actually, to be more precise, I don't see," Nightwing quipped.  Harry dropped the cloak to his shoulders, so his head appeared to be floating in midair.  Tim gave a slight shudder.

"Boy, what the Joker wouldn't give to have one of those," he murmured under his breath.  Batman ignored him, walking around Harry and closely examining the cloak.

"Interesting,"  he stated, removing his right gauntlet and reaching out to feel the fabric with his fingers.  "Does it work for non-wizards?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at each other.

"No idea," said Harry.  "Want to try and find out?"  He held out the cloak.

Batman and Nightwing looked at each other.  Then Nightwing shrugged.

"Sure, why not?"  He took the cloak, swung it over his head and let it settle over him.  "So?" he asked.

"I can't see you.  How about the rest of you?" said Harry.  They all shook their heads.

"Nightwing, what do you see?" Batman asked.

"I can see everything around me, although it feels like I'm looking through a slight haze."

"Can you see yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Drop the cloak to your shoulders," ordered Batman.  Nightwing did so, and then looked down at himself.

"OK, that's weird," he said.  "Talk about your weight loss diet…"  Everyone snickered.  Even Batman's mouth quirked in a half-smile.

"I think Clarke was right," he observed.  Everyone else turned to him with puzzled looks.

"That one went by a little fast, Batman," Tim confessed.  "What was Mr. Kent right about?"

Batman rolled his eyes.  "Not that Clark," he told Tim.  "Don't any of you read science fiction?"

"Oh!  You must mean Arthur C. Clarke!" exclaimed Hermione.  Batman nodded in approval.

"Very good, Hermione," he said.  Nightwing and Tim looked at each other, astonished.

"_Praise?  From **him**__?_"  Tim mouthed. Nightwing shrugged.

"_I think he's found a kindred soul_," he mouthed back.  Batman simply continued talking to Hermione, ignoring the two of them.

"Do you remember what he wrote about magic?" he asked her.

Hermione scrunched up her face, thinking hard.

"Let's see…it's been a long time since I've read any of his stuff," she admitted.  Then her eyes flew open.

"I remember!  He wrote…oh, my goodness…_'Any sufficiently advanced technology is… indistinguishable from magic.' "_  The last three words were spoken in a whisper.  "But technology doesn't…do you think…maybe…"  Her voice trailed off in awe.

"It would be interesting to investigate the possibilities, don't you think?" Batman suggested.  She nodded in excitement.

By now, Ron had had enough.

"**EXCUSE ME!**" he said loudly.  Startled, everyone looked at him, even Batman and Hermione."Is it time for the less-educated among us to ask questions yet?" he asked sharply.  Batman looked rather affronted at the interruption, but Nightwing grinned.

"I think so," he said, removing the Invisibility Cloak and handing it back to Harry. "What would you like to know?"

"For starters…why are you here?  What are superheroes doing posing as new teachers and an exchange student at Hogwarts?" Ron demanded.

"Yeah, and why did Professor Dumbledore introduce you by different names?"  Harry added.

"OK.  Let's take the second question first – it's easier.  Actually, Hermione answered it a little while ago,"  said Nightwing.  Hermione looked puzzled for a moment, before her face cleared in understanding.

"You mean when I recognized Bruce Wayne?  Oh, you must be working undercover!"

"Exactly.  As for the first question…that's going to take a little longer.  How much do you know about the criminal called 'Lord Voldemort'?"

All three young faces hardened, their expressions suddenly showing experience well beyond their years.

"He killed my parents," ground out Harry, "and my godfather."  He was startled by the sympathetic looks that flashed over the faces of all three superheroes.  This was the first actual emotion he'd seen Batman display.

Recovering from his momentary distraction, he continued.  "He's been trying to take over the world for years now.  He lost his powers – and his body – when he tried to kill me when I was a baby, but he returned a little over a year ago.  He and his followers – they're called Death Eaters – have been killing witches and wizards since then, trying to terrorize the entire wizarding community.  The Ministry of Magic refused to admit he was back until just a couple months ago, so no one had any information on how to protect themselves."  Harry was obviously quite bitter about this last fact.

"He apparently has also been killing non-magical people," Nightwing said soberly.  "The entire populations of several villages in Great Britain have died under mysterious circumstances. In each village, everyone died within a few minutes of each other, and the authorities could find no cause for their deaths.  There were no survivors to describe what happened.  The number of affected villages has been escalating rapidly, and the government decided it needed help."

"So they called you?"  Ron looked skeptical.

The corner of Nightwing's mouth twitched upward briefly.  "Sort of.  You see, along with being crimefighters in Gotham City, we're also members of an international team of heroes–"

"The Justice League!" exclaimed Hermione.

"Right.  The government officially requested the Justice League's help in investigating the deaths.  Well, Batman, here," Nightwing gestured toward his partner, who frowned at him, "is known as the World's Greatest Detective, so he was the logical one to be assigned to the case.  Robin and I are the rest of his team.  Any questions so far?"

"Yeah,"  Harry said slowly.  "That explains what you're doing in the UK.  But you're Muggles – so how do you know about Voldemort, and what are you doing at Hogwarts?"

Tim took over the explanation at this point.  "I was at King's Cross Station yesterday morning.  I saw people vanishing into a brick pillar, and thought I better investigate.  I ended up going through the pillar also, and got on the Hogwarts Express, figuring I'd gather information and report back to Batman later.  But when I tried to call him, my commlink didn't work."

"What's a… _collmink_?" interrupted Ron.  Hermione favored him with a Look that could have rivaled Batman's.

"It's a **_commlink_**, Ron – a communications link.  It's a way to talk over long distances.  But since it's Muggle technology, it wouldn't work on the train."

"Oh.  Well, how was I supposed to know?  I barely know how to use a fellytone,"  Ron answered. Hermione rolled her eyes, but didn't reply.

"Anyway,"  Tim continued, "I got to Hogwarts, and when Professor Dumbledore saw me, he told everyone that I was an exchange student, and I got sorted into Gryffindor.  Then this morning, he called me to his office – you remember the note, Harry."  Harry nodded.

"Well, first he explained that he knew I was a crimefighter and a wizard – though I have no idea how he figured any of that out –"

"There's a field of magic called 'Legilimancy' – a witch or wizard can use it to read specific thoughts and memories in a person's mind," explained Hermione.

"Oh.  When I told him I was only an apprentice crimefighter, he decided to invite Batman and Nightwing to join us.  They came by Floo powder.  Then he explained to us about Voldemort–" Tim noticed Ron shudder as he spoke the name. "–and his followers, and what they've been doing.  He told us about their use of the Killing Curse on wizards, and that the curse was what caused the deaths we are investigating as well."

"But why does Dumbledore want you teaching here?" Hermione asked.

Batman entered the conversation for the first time. "Tim's – and thus our – arrival here was evidently the response to a spell Professor Dumbledore cast requesting professional help.  Because there is no magical defense against Voldemort, he believes that non-magical means may be effective."  Hermione shot Ron an 'I-told-you-so' look.  "Our teaching roles will provide a cover for our researches into ways to stop this madman."  He gave all three of them a stern look.  "We will actually be teaching real subjects, however, that **_do_** work at Hogwarts, so you **_will_** need to pay attention in class."

"Yessir," they responded in chorus.  Nightwing and Robin shared a private grin.  Obviously Batman's usual interpersonal techniques worked just as well on wizards as on ordinary people.

"But, Batman…sir…" Hermione began.

"Yes?"

"If Tim…Robin…hasn't had any wizard training, how is he going to function as a sixth-year student here?"

The three crimefighters shared a look.

"I've been kinda worried about that myself,"  Tim admitted.

They were all silent for a moment.

"You could teach him, Harry," Ron suggested suddenly.  Everyone looked at him.  "You did teach us all about Defense Against the Dark Arts last year, remember?"   Looking at the confused Americans, he realized he'd better explain.

"Last year, we had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who worked for the Ministry of Magic.  She refused to teach us anything, and wouldn't even let us learn on our own.  And we had O.W.L.'s coming up–"

"Like promotion exams," interrupted Hermione.  Ron glared at her and continued.

"–and we didn't want to fail.  Anyway, Harry had learned all sorts of defensive spells for the Triwizard Tournament two years ago, and he'd fought You-Know-Who three times and lived. So we formed**…** kinda an underground Defense Against the Dark Arts class of our own, and we called it Dumbledore's Army, or the DA for short, and Harry taught us all.  And he was a really great teacher.  So I figure he could teach Tim what he needs to know to get by."

Hermione and Harry stared at Ron. Harry was rather less than enthusiastic about the idea.

"But…"  he started.  Hermione ran right over him.

"Ron, that's a great idea," she proclaimed.

 "But…"  Harry tried again.  Hermione looked at him in exasperation.

"Harry, we'll all teach him…all three of us."  Harry started to object again, but she glowered fiercely at him until he shut his mouth.

"Yeah, that'll work," said Ron.  "After all, Harry, we don't want Tim left helpless against Malfoy, do we?"

"I guess not," muttered Harry.  "OK.  As long as it's all of us and not just me this time!"

"Now that that's settled," began Batman, but he was again interrupted by Hermione.

"Heavens!" she exclaimed.  "We've got to get back to the dormitories – it'll be daylight soon!"

"**As I was saying**," growled Batman,  "we'd better close the discussion for this evening.  Robin, you'll need to climb back into your room without being seen.  That'll be harder here than it was at Brentwood."

"He might as well come with us,"  Harry offered.  "We can fit four under the cloak."

"Cool!"  Tim responded with enthusiasm.  Nightwing gave him a wicked look.

"Study hard tomorrow, Tim," he urged.  "Remember, you've got classes on Monday!"

Tim winced, then grinned impishly back at Nightwing.

"So do you!"

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**


	8. Chap 7: Coming Up to Speed

**_Sufficiently Advanced Technology…_**

**_…is indistinguishable from magic._****    –  Arthur C. Clarke**

**_CHAPTER 7 – Coming Up to Speed _**

Tim, Ron and Harry groaned as Hermione's wake-up _Alertus_ message rang in their ears early Sunday morning.  Crawling out of bed, they dressed and stumbled down the dormitory stairs to the common room, to be greeted by Hermione's cheery, "Good morning!"

Tim looked at Harry.  "You know, I've always felt that whoever invented morning should have been shot – at sunrise!"  Harry suddenly discovered how difficult it was to yawn and laugh at the same time.  Hermione simply laughed.

"Well, if we're going to teach you five years' worth of half a dozen subjects in one day, we'd better get a good breakfast!"  She chivvied them out the portrait hole, in the manner of a good-natured sheepdog herding three rather reluctant sheep.

A little while later, Ron swallowed the last bite of his fourth marmalade-covered scone and asked, "Where are we going to do this, anyway?"  The four of them were sitting well away from everyone else.

"Well, there's only one logical place to do it where we aren't likely to be interrupted," Harry replied.

Ron nodded, his mouth now full of bacon.  "Yeah, that makes sense, especially now that Umbridge's gone."

Tim was curious by now.  "And this place is…?"

"You'll see in a few minutes,"  Hermione replied.

>>>>>>>

After breakfast, Tim followed the other three as they climbed the staircases to the seventh floor.  At the top of the stairs, Hermione turned to Tim.

"Stay here for just a minute, will you?  We'll let you know when to join us."  Tim nodded and watched them march partway down the hall, turn around and come back, then turn and walk down the hall again.  As they turned around a third time, Tim saw a door appear in the wall midway down the corridor.  Hermione motioned to him, and he hurried to join them as they opened the door and slipped inside.

"What is this place?" he asked, curiously looking around.

"It's called the Room of Requirement,"  Hermione answered.  "It becomes whatever you need it to be – and right now we need a place to teach you basic spells."  Indeed, the room was furnished with worktables and chairs, shelves full of books, and various pieces of magical equipment.

"Now," she continued, getting right down to business. "Let's see your class list again."  Tim pulled the list out of his pocket and read it aloud.

"OK, I've got _Arithmancy, Astronomy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Muggle Science, Potions, Self-Defense in a Muggle World, _and _Transfiguration._"

"Have you looked at any of your books yet?"  Tim favored her with a sour look.

"Like I've had time?"

"Oh.  Good point.  Well, you probably don't need tutoring in _Muggle Science_ or_ Self-Defense_, do you?"

"No, and I've got a pretty strong background in _Astronomy_, too."

"Well, in that case, since I'm the only one who's done _Arithmancy_, I guess we could start with that."

"What about Ron and me?"

"Yeah, what are we, chopped Mandrake root?"

Hermione looked to the ceiling for patience.  "Harry, you're obviously going to teach _Defense Against the Dark Arts_. As for _Charms, Potions, _and_ Transfiguration_, why don't you two split them up while Tim and I look at _Arithmancy_."  She selected a large, heavy book from the shelves, motioned Tim to a chair, handed him the book, and sat down next to him.  Tim began to flip through the book.

"Huh.  This looks an awful lot like vector algebra, Euclidean and analytic geometry, trigonometry, and calculus."  He carefully skimmed several chapters, then looked up with a relieved expression.

"From what I see here, this is mostly advanced mathematics.  Do you do any actual spells in this class?"

"Actually… no."

"In that case, I've had a lot of this stuff, so I shouldn't have too much trouble with this class.  Are any of the other classes like this?"  The other three looked at each other.

"Well, _Potions_ is kinda like that," Harry said.  "We mix all kinds of stuff up in a cauldron, and we end up with a potion that does something magical."

"Sounds kinda like Chemistry.  Lemme see the book a minute."

Harry searched the shelves for a minute, before pulling down One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.  Tim scanned the book for a couple of minutes before looking up with a grin.

"Yup. Chemistry.  Different ingredients, same techniques."  Now Hermione looked relieved.

"So we really only need to teach you three subjects.  Ron, do you want_ Charms_ or_ Transfiguration_?"

"You're better at _Transfiguration_, so I guess I'll take _Charms_."  Ron sat down on Tim's other side and pulled out his wand.

"Each charm has two parts to it:  the wand movement and the incantation," Ron began. "It's probably easier to show you than to try to describe one.  I guess we should start with a basic one like levitation." He looked around. "Hey, Hermione, hand me a feather, wouldja?"  She glowered at him, but handed him a large brown feather without comment.

"Now, you move the wand like this: swish and flick."  Ron demonstrated, and Tim copied him several times.

"Then you say the incantation at the same time you move the wand.The incantation for this spell is _Wingardium Leviosa._  Be careful, because timing is very important."  This time Ron performed the complete charm, and the feather lifted off the table and floated in midair.  Then he brought the feather back to the table, and looked at Tim.  "Now you try.  It'll probably take you awhile to get the hang of it, so don't give up right away."

Tim positioned his wand and concentrated on the feather.

"**_Wingardium Leviosa!_**"  Ron's jaw dropped, as Tim grinned in delight.

"Whoa… how'd you… must be beginner's luck.  Do it again."  Tim swished and flicked and pronounced the incantation again, and again the feather floated off the table.  Ron shook his head in disbelief.

"Harry, Hermione…c'mere."  They hurried over from opposite corners of the room, looking concerned  "He got levitation on the first try!"

"You're kidding!"

"No, really… watch!"  They all looked at Tim, who did it again.

"Wow," Harry breathed.  "Hermione's the only other one I know of who got it first try.  That's cool!"

Hermione had a funny look on her face.

"Ron," she said slowly.  "Try something more complicated."

"Like?"

"Oh, I don't know… how about a summoning charm?"

"Hermione, are you nuts?  That's a fourth-year charm!"

"I know, I know… just do it, alright?"

"Fine.  Don't blame me if something goes wrong, though.  Find me something soft."  Hermione looked around and pointed to a small cushion lying on a nearby chair.  Ron proceeded to demonstrate the wand motion and incantation.  Then he banished the cushion back to the chair so Tim could try.

Again Tim poised his wand and concentrated.

"**_Accio cushion!_**"

The cushion flew off the chair and hit Tim squarely on the nose.  Harry and Ron looked shocked, but Hermione nodded as if she had expected nothing less.

"Try a few more," she suggested.  By now Ron and Harry were ready to follow her lead.  They took turns teaching Tim a wide variety of charms, including Defense Against the Dark Arts charms such as the Impediment Jinx, Stunning Spell, Full-Body Bind, Reductor Curse, and the Disarming and Shield Charms. Tim easily mastered every spell they demonstrated.  By late morning, all of them were ready for a break.

"I've never seen anything like it," Harry said, as they all laid down their wands and sat back.  "I'm not even sure Dumbledore could have done all these charms perfectly the first time.  How on earth do you do it?"  Tim looked a little unsure how to answer, so Hermione stepped in.

"It all fits together for you, doesn't it?" she said to Tim. "It all makes sense, I mean."  He nodded.

"Magic feels a lot like computer programming," he replied.  "It has its own rules and logic.  You have to know exactly what outcome you want, and what path you have to take to get there.  Then it's just a matter of creating the path – in this case, performing the spell.  And I've had a **_lot_** of experience programming computers.  I guess it just sort of… translates over."  Then he looked at Ron.

"And before you ask, Ron, a computer is a Muggle instrument for storing and analyzing large amounts of information."

Ron looked like he couldn't decide whether to be offended or grateful.  "Thanks," he finally mumbled.

Hermione looked at Harry thoughtfully.  "I originally wasn't going to suggest this, but since he's doing so well… do you think we ought to teach him the Patronus charm?"

"Yeah, probably," Harry replied.  Tim raised an inquisitive eyebrow.  Harry explained.

"There's an evil creature called a dementor. They used to guard Azkaban – that's the wizard prison – before they all went over to Voldemort.  One of our professors described them as 'the foulest creatures that walk this earth'.  They suck all the good feelings out of your body, leaving you with nothing but the worst experiences of your life. They can drive a person mad within weeks. They can even eat your soul."  He paused a moment, remembering his own prior experiences with them, and shuddered.

"Anyway," he continued, remembering how Professor Lupin had first described a Patronus to him.  "A Patronus is a positive force, a projection that acts as a guardian or shield between you and the dementor.  A strong Patronus can drive off a whole bunch of dementors.  It usually takes a powerful wizard to produce one, but from the way you've been going today, you just might be able to do it."

He took a deep breath.  "The first thing you do is think of a single, very happy thought or memory.  Then concentrate really, really hard on it, so it's the only thing in your mind.  When you're totally immersed in it, then say the incantation _Expecto Patronum_.  Watch."

Tim watched Harry perform the spell.  A brightly glowing, silvery shape shot out of the end of Harry's wand.  Squinting, Tim could see that it had the form of a stag.  It stood in the middle of the room for a few moments, pawing the floor, then dissolved into silver mist and dissipated.

"Wow," Tim breathed.  "That was beautiful.  Will mine look like that?"

"The appearance is the same, but it's a different animal for everyone.  My dad could transform himself into a stag, so that's why my Patronus takes that form.  Go ahead and try it for yourself."

Tim thought for a little while.  Then he gripped his wand tightly, focused his thoughts, and cried, "**_Expecto Patronum!_**"  A silver wolf burst full-blown from the tip of his wand.  It loped around them once, looked at Tim, wagged its tail, and vanished into mist.

Totally drained, Tim plopped down on the floor right where he stood.  The others, totally awestruck, sat down beside him.

"What a lovely Patronus,"  Hermione marveled.  "Why did it take that form?"

Tim shrugged.  "No idea," he admitted.  "I've always admired wolves – they're so beautiful, and so perfectly evolved for what they do.  And they're one of the few predators that work together.  A wolf pack bringing down a large animal is a perfect example of teamwork."

Ron grinned.  "Well, seeing how smoothly you, Batman, and Nightwing worked together last night, that might be the reason right there!"

Harry couldn't contain his curiosity.  "What memory were you using, anyway?"

Tim smiled.  "The moment I realized Batman was willing to take me in and train **_me_** to be Robin."  Then he looked at them with a pleading expression.  "Can we have lunch now?  I'm starving!"

Hermione, Ron and Harry all nodded enthusiastically, and climbed to their feet.  Knowing how tired Tim must be, Harry reached down to give him a hand up.

"We'll start _Transfiguration_ right after lunch!"  Hermione said brightly.  Tim groaned.

"You're as hard a taskmaster as Batman!"  Hermione contemplated his words, then looked back at him.

"Thank you!"

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**


	9. Chap 8: New Subjects, Part I

**_Sufficiently Advanced Technology…_**

**_…is indistinguishable from magic._****    –  Arthur C. Clarke**

**_CHAPTER 8 – New Subjects – Part I _**

At breakfast Monday morning, Professor Dumbledore stood up to make yet another introduction.

"I am sure you have all been frightfully busy wondering just who would be teaching your Defense Against the Dark Arts classes this year.  I am sorry that I must inform you that Professor Umbridge will–"  he hesitated at this point, and a loud, heartfelt groan rose from almost every student in the Great Hall.  His eyes twinkled even more brightly than usual as he continued, "–not be rejoining us this year."  He was forced to pause again, as an even louder and more heartfelt cheer resounded from the rafters.

When the uproar had died down, Dumbledore motioned to a young woman who sat at the end of the teachers' table.

"Please welcome Professor Nymphadora Tonks, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Tonks rose to her feet and bowed to thunderous applause from the students.  Of course, after the events of the previous year, they would have applauded thunderously for **_anyone_** who **_wasn't_** Dolores Umbridge.  Harry, Ron and Hermione were especially delighted to see her.

Under cover of the clapping, Harry whispered to Tim, "You'll really like her.  She's an Auror – that's a Dark Wizard catcher, kinda like a magical version of you three – she'll be great!"

"Little clumsy, though, isn't she?" Tim observed, watching Tonks knock over her goblet of pumpkin juice in the process of resuming her seat.

"Yeah, well, she's always that way.  Barely made it through her Stealth and Tracking class.  Whoops, Dumbledore's not done talking," and Harry hastily returned his attention to the front of the hall.

"Your class schedules will be delivered to you momentarily.  Before I forget, Professor Johnson has requested you wear casual Muggle clothes to his classes.  Those of you who have him this morning had better finish your breakfasts quickly so that you may run to your dormitories, change, and still avoid being out of breath when you stroll into class on time."

Dumbledore sat down, and Professor McGonagall proceeded to distribute the class schedules.  Comparing them, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Tim saw that they did, indeed, have "Self-Defense in a Muggle World" that morning.

"Ugh, it's a double class with the Slytherins – right after breakfast," said Ron.  "That's enough to ruin anyone's appetite."

"You want to eat lightly, anyway," Tim warned them quietly.  "If I know Dick, this class'll be quite a workout."  The others looked at him blankly.

"If you know who?" Ron asked.  Then, realizing what he had said, he started to babble.  "No, not… I didn't mean… not **_that _**You-Know-Who… I mean who are you talking about?"  Tim burst out laughing, even as he hit himself on the forehead.

"Duh.  Sorry.  Professor Johnson.  Dick's a nickname for Richard.  Anyway, don't eat heavily this morning.  Training with him tends to get pretty physical."

"Thanks for the heads-up," said Hermione.  "We'd better eat and run if we're going to be there on time."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Entering the Self-Defense classroom, the students looked around curiously at the unusual setup.  There were no student desks to be seen.  Most of the floor was covered with what Harry recognized as gymnastics practice mats.  Dick Grayson, a.k.a. 'Professor Johnson', stood at the front of the room, dressed in black sweatpants and a cobalt-blue tee-shirt.  He was casually leaning against his teacher's desk, with his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms folded over his chest.  He looked the picture of relaxation, except to Tim, who could tell by the look in his eyes that he was very alert indeed.

As the last student filed into the room, Dick straightened up.  "Welcome," he said to them in a low, pleasant voice.  "Please take your shoes off and form a semicircle over here on the mats, while I take roll."  He briskly called off their names as they straggled into formation; then he joined them on the mats.

"This class is about defending yourself while in the presence of non-magic folk," he began.  "Since part of the rationale for this is remaining unnoticed among Muggles, even when you must take action to protect yourself, we will behave as Muggles in this class at all times."

Glancing around, Harry and Ron were rather disgusted to note that, with the exception of Hermione, all the girls, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, were positively drooling over the handsome young, black-haired, blue-eyed professor.  They appeared to be worshipping him even more than they had Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, way back in their second year at Hogwarts.  Unlike Lockhart, however, Dick appeared completely oblivious to the female adoration he was receiving.

Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was getting quite annoyed.  Pansy Parkinson had taken one look at the professor, and suddenly seemed to forget Malfoy's entire existence.  He decided to regain her attention by his favorite method – ridiculing someone else.  He looked Johnson up and down for a minute, and a sneer appeared on his face.  Everyone else might think he was risking detention or the loss of house points, but Malfoy wasn't worried.  He had discovered that quiet-spoken, easy-going students, even those older than himself, were easily bullied, and he had often seen his father browbeat adults.  This professor would be a piece of cake.

"What's the point of this absurd class, anyway?" he whispered – loudly – to Goyle and Crabbe, who stood next to him.  "If I'm under wizard attack, I'm certainly not going to worry about what I look like to a bunch of Muggles.  I'll modify their memories later – if I decide it's even worth letting them live.  There's not a Muggle alive stands a chance against my wand.  This class is a total waste of time."  By the time he finished his assertion, the entire class, including the teacher, was staring at him.  Crabbe and Goyle sniggered.

"So you don't believe someone could take you down without magic, Mr…" Dick's quiet voice trailed off expectantly.

"Malfoy," came the haughty reply.  "No, I don't.  And even if there were someone who could, it certainly wouldn't be you."  The class stood frozen, wondering what Johnson would do with this blatant challenge.  Even Malfoy had never openly insulted a teacher before.  Dick only smiled.

"Why don't you join me in the middle, Mr. Malfoy," he invited pleasantly.  "It sounds like the class could benefit from a demonstration of the superiority of a magical response to an attack."

Malfoy grinned nastily.  Just as he thought – this teacher was a spineless git.  Any other adult at Hogwarts would have slapped him down so fast his head would still be spinning.

As Draco moved into the center of the mat, Tim buried his face in one hand.  Someone was about to get used as a floor mop – and it wouldn't be Dick.

The two stood facing each other, about eight feet apart.  Dick brought a small rubber ball out of his pocket.

"I'll use this ball to commence an attack," he said.  The students looked at the ball nervously.  "It's just a simple rubber ball," Dick reassured them.  "Now, Mr. Malfoy, I will toss the ball at you. This will constitute the start of the 'attack'.  You may use any magical means you like to defeat me.  I will use no magic at all, and won't continue the attack until you start to respond.  I'll even make it easy for you – I'll give you a countdown."  He waited for Malfoy's nod.

"Three…two…one…NOW!"  He tossed the ball lightly at Malfoy, who had already begun to reach for his wand by the word 'two'.  Then Dick moved – fast.  A fraction of a second later, Malfoy found himself flat on his back, his wand arm pinned beneath him and Johnson standing over him.  Malfoy hadn't even managed to get a grip on his wand, much less get it out of his pocket.

Not thinking straight, Crabbe and Goyle snarled, whipped out their wands, and closed in for the kill, one approaching Johnson from either side.  The rest of the class gasped in horror.  An insult was one thing, but actually attacking a teacher – that was unheard of!

Dick remained unfazed.  This time he moved slowly enough so the students could actually follow his actions.  Even as Crabbe was attempting to correctly position his wand, and Goyle was stammering out an incantation, Dick reached out and grabbed Goyle's wrist, pivoted, bent, and flipped Goyle over his hip.  Goyle went flying through the air to crash right into Crabbe, and both of them ended up on the mat in a heap.

The room was utterly silent for a moment.  Then the Gryffindor students erupted in cheers, laughter, and applause.  Even the Slytherin girls clapped in star-struck admiration, while the remainder of the Slytherin boys stood stunned.

Dick looked around with a stern expression on his face.  "Is it the usual procedure at this school for students to assault a teacher?" he inquired.  Everyone, even the Slytherins, shook their heads violently.  He nodded.  Having seen bullies before, he knew what he would have to do, if he intended to retain control of this class.

"In that case, I think I'll give a little exhibition of a few more of the moves you'll be learning in this class."  He looked at Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, who were climbing unsteadily to their feet, and he grinned like a cat sighting a particularly delicious-looking mouse.  "Since these gentlemen have so generously volunteered to help out."

Dick then proceeded to show the class a number of basic self-defense techniques, using the three Slytherins as practice subjects.  For each technique, he slowly and precisely demonstrated each step, grip, pivot, twist, or throw in sequence, explaining as he went.  Then he performed the entire maneuver at full speed.  Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle took turns ending up in a variety of uncomfortable positions, limbs contorting in directions they were never meant to go. A true professional, Dick was extremely careful never to cause actual damage to his targets, but by the end of the morning, the three boys were completely exhausted, aching, and dripping sweat from every pore.  Dick, by contrast, wasn't even breathing hard.

The bell rang to signal the end of class, and Dick waved a dismissal.  "Next time, you'll be practicing in pairs, so be ready!" he informed them as they put their shoes back on.  Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle limped out the door, muttering angrily to each other.  Tim, Hermione, Harry and Ron managed to be among the last to leave, receiving a cheerful wink and grin from Dick as they left.

Harry and Ron were chortling happily as the four Gryffindors walked down to lunch.

"That was incredible!"  Harry exclaimed.

"Yeah," Ron agreed.  "Even better than Malfoy the amazing, bouncing ferret!"

"Malfoy the **_what_**?"  Ron looked at Tim and explained how Malfoy had been transfigured into a ferret as a punishment during their fourth year at Hogwarts.  "Too bad McGonagall had to go and change him back, though," he concluded.  "He was much better looking as a ferret."  Tim laughed.

"Really, though, that **_was_** incredible," Harry continued.  "How does Nightwing–" Tim glared at him, and he hastily corrected himself. "I mean, Professor Johnson make that look so easy?"

"Because for him, it **_is_**," Tim replied softly.  "Compared to what we do every night, what you just saw was baby-steps."  He watched his friends' eyes widen.

"Don't worry.  He's an excellent teacher.  You'll be able to do most of that yourselves within a few weeks."

"Speaking of teachers, though, you'd better warn him, Tim," Hermione said seriously.  Tim looked at her questioningly.

"Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle are in Slytherin House, and Malfoy's dad is extremely powerful.  Professor Snape isn't going to be happy about Professor Johnson making an example of them today, and he's got nasty, sneaky ways of getting back at people."

"Oh, boy, does he ever," Harry seconded her opinion fervently.  "He and my dad didn't get along when they were students together, and he's been torturing me for five years now!"

"I'll let him know," Tim sighed.  Then he shook his head in disgust.  "Politics."

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**


	10. Chap 9: Arcane Chemistry

**_Disclaimers and other info in Prologue_**  
  
**_Sufficiently Advanced Technology…_**

**_…is indistinguishable from magic._**** – Arthur C. Clarke**

****

**_CHAPTER 9 – Arcane Chemistry _**

After lunch, Hermione, Ron and Harry led Tim down to the dungeons.

"Uh, guys," Tim began apprehensively, looking around at the clammy walls. "Why are we going down here?" He shivered slightly in the the chill dampness.

"Because this is where Potions is," Ron answered darkly.

"Be careful in this class, Tim." Harry had suddenly become uncharacteristically serious. "Snape uses any excuse to issue detentions and take points away from us."

"Us?"

"Any house other than Slytherin, but especially Gryffindor. He's liable to ask you about obscure potion ingredients. You'll be glad we made you study that book last night."

"But don't say anything unless he specifically calls on you," Hermione said ruefully. "In fact, try to be as discreet as possible. With Snape, the less he notices you, the better off you are. No more talking now!"

The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students barely had time to take their seats in the classroom, before Professor Snape strode in through the door, cloak billowed behind him. He strode up the aisle between the old-fashioned schoolroom desks, turning dramatically at the front of the room. His cold eyes swept the class, settling on Harry.

"So, Potter," he said, slowly moving to stand menacingly in front of Harry. "I see I'm saddled with you and your… friends… for another year." He stepped past Ron and Hermione, then stopped to focus on Tim. Looking up into that chill, antagonistic gaze, Tim suddenly realized how a criminal must feel when cornered by the Bat.

"And here we have…a new Gryffindor." Snape examined Tim in the manner of a scientist studying a rather loathsome new insect. "Mr. … Drake. From… America, I believe." His voice dripped disdain, but Tim, forewarned, did not respond to the obvious baiting. He waited until Snape shot a direct question at him.

"Tell me, Mr. Drake, what could be made using henbane, belladonna, or datura flowers?"

"Flying ointment, sir." Tim had had plenty of experience with hostile teachers in his school career.

Snape's surprise was apparent to Tim, who had undergone many hours of training from Batman in reading body language.

"What is the antidote for an overdose of deadly nightshade?"

"Opium, sir."

Snape wheeled around to glare at the rest of the students, who were avidly watching the interrogation.

"This student may actually do well in this class – **_unlike_** most of the rest of you." He returned to the front of the room.

"Open your books to page eight hundred twenty-six. Today we begin truth serums."

Tim measured out five scoops of powdered dragon bone, and added it to his cauldron on top of the shaved shark scales, pickled rose stems, chopped earthworms, hen's teeth, and whole white peppercorns. Then he diced four cubes of solidified smoke, the last of the dry ingredients, and added it at the rate of one teaspoon every fifteen seconds. Now it was time for the liquids.

One cup of melted tubeworm oil, and stir five times clockwise. Three drams Portuguese-man-o-war jelly, carefully folded in. Stir exactly forty-six times counterclockwise.

Tim wrinkled his nose. This stuff was beginning to smell awful. Oh, well.

Add seven teaspoons attar of red applewood. Mix for thirty-one and one-half seconds. Now add…

**_SS_****_SS_****_SS_****_SS_****_SS_****_SS_****_SS_****_…_**

Snape sighed theatrically.

"If you can't even make a simple potion like this, Wood, how do you plan to ever achieve N.E.W.T. standard? Not that anyone would have ever realistically expected you to make it that far, anyway." He practically oozed false sympathy. "I didn't think anyone could still confuse **_clockwise_** with **_counterclockwise_**. I'm afraid I will have to record today's effort as a zero, sad to say."

Tim stiffened as Snape sarcastically berated the Ravenclaw student, but Hermione grabbed his arm. When he glanced her way, she shook her head slightly. Not liking her meaning, but understanding the necessity for it, he relaxed and continued his own measuring.

…add one quart of seawater taken from the Indian Ocean. Simmer for exactly fifteen minutes and fifty-five seconds. Briskly whisk in one gallon of dilute (not concentrated!) octopus ink. Cauldron contents should now be bright blue.

Tim ladled a sample of his potion into a flask as he had seen Hermione do. He stoppered it, and carefully carried it to the teacher's desk.

Snape examined his sample carefully.

"Very good, Mr. Drake. Miss Granger, I want you to examine Mr. Drake's potion, here. **_This_** is the correct shade of blue. Yours is two shades too light. I fear you are not qualified to be Hogwarts Headmistress yet!"

Hermione reddened at Snape's snide comment, but didn't say anything. Both students returned to their worktable. Hermione glanced at Tim, who obviously wasn't sure how to clean up the mess. Then she took out her wand, exaggerated her motions, and said, "_Evanesco!" _very clearly. Tim followed suit, and they packed their now-clean equipment away. Looking over at the next table, they saw Harry and Ron finishing just as the bell rang. All four of them exited the dungeon as fast as humanly possible.

_**TO BE CONTINUED… **_


	11. Chap 10: Experiments With Broomsticks

**Disclaimers and other info in Prologue**

**

Sufficiently Advanced Technology...

**

...**_is indistinguishable from magic._– Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 10 – Experiments With Broomsticks **

By dinnertime, Tim was positively ravenous. Although he had had very little physical activity that day, he had been constantly on alert, so as not to betray himself. He sat down with Harry, Ron and Hermione, who had by now become his constant companions, and was impatiently waiting for the food to appear, when everyone across from him suddenly stopped talking. Twisting around, he saw Dick Grayson standing directly behind him, a forbidding expression on his face.

"Mr. Drake. You will report to my office immediately after dinner." Without waiting for Tim's answer, Dick turned on his heel and strode to the teacher's table.

The nearby Gryffindors let out their held breaths.

"Boy, sounds like you're in trouble now, mate! What'd you do?" Seamus Finnegan asked. Tim looked mystified and shrugged.

"I guess I'll find out, won't I... immediately after dinner."

Half an hour later, Tim knocked on Dick's office door.

"Enter!" came the crisp response. Tim pushed open the heavy door, stepped inside, dragged the door closed behind him, and turned to grin at Dick. Dick looked back at him with a worried expression.

"You OK, Timbo? I saw your signal at lunch, but this is the first private time I've had all day."

"Yeah, I'm doing fine. Sounds like you've been as busy as I have."

"You could say that. Teaching Self-Defense to classes of eleven- and twelve-year olds. At least I didn't have any more bullies, though. What did you need to talk about?"

"Actually, it has to do with those bullies. Hermione wanted me to give you a heads-up. All three of them are Slytherins, and their Head of House is Professor Snape. Judging by the class I had with him this afternoon, he's at least as big a bully as they are. Apparently Malfoy is one of his favorites, and Malfoy's dad has a lot of political power. Anyway, Snape's likely to try to get revenge on you, and the scoop is that he's really underhanded and sneaky about it. Hermione thought you'd better be warned."

"Hm. Thank her for me. Any idea what he's likely to try?"

"Well, she thinks that since you're teaching a Muggle class, he might try to spread rumors about you being a Muggle."

"Would that really be a problem?"

"She thinks so. There's a lot of prejudice against Muggles, and a lot of the parents would be really angry if they thought a Muggle was teaching their kids. And if you can't **_disprove_** it... well, you know what it's like to work under a cloud of suspicion."

Dick's face grew bleak. "Yeah."

"So you might want to think about how you're going to disprove it... since you really are one."

Dick was silent for a bit.

"Got any suggestions?"

"Well, you could talk to Dumbledore. I mean, if I'm a wizard just because I'm good at computers–"

"That's it! Tim, you're a genius!"

"What?! What'd I say?"

Dick grinned at him.

"Bruce and I were walking around the grounds yesterday afternoon – you know, while you were busy **_studying_**..." Tim made threatening motions at him, but Dick just laughed. "Anyway, we were watching some of the students flying on brooms above a stadium – do you know anything about that?"

"Yeah, Harry and Ron told me about it – at great length." Tim rolled his eyes. "It's a wizard team sport called Quidditch – it's played on brooms, with four balls. Kind of a cross between soccer and basketball, fifty feet off the ground. Why?"

"Well, your wizard ability is tied in to your computer skills, right?"

"Yeah...so?"

"Has anybody mentioned anything about wizards being able to fly **_without_** brooms?"

"No. As far as I know, they can't. Why do you..." Tim's voice trailed off, and he looked at Dick open-mouthed for a moment. Then he started to grin, too.

"How are you going to arrange an aerialist performance here!?!?"

"I'll talk to Dumbledore this evening. So, now that that's solved, tell me about your day. What happened in your class with Snape?"

Tim told him all about Potions class, about the truth serum potions and how Snape had bullied the unfortunate Ravenclaw student.

"You wouldn't believe the ingredients we use in there. I mean, solidified smoke? Dilute octopus ink? Chopped **_earthworms_**?! Yuk!"

"Did it work?"

"Don't know. Apparently we're not allowed to test potions like that on humans, so Snape just marked it. He said mine was the correct shade of blue, though."

"Huh. Good thing it didn't turn out pink with purple polka dots." Tim stuck his tongue out at Dick, who pretended to grab it and yank, which led to a mock wrestling match. Finally, when they were both out of breath from laughing, Dick sent Tim back to his dormitory.

Tim barely got through the portrait hole into the common room when he was peppered with questions from the other Gryffindors.

"So what did he want you for?"

"Do you have detention?"

"How many points did we lose?"

Tim flopped into an overstuffed chair. "We didn't lose any points. I'd rather not talk about it."

"Oh, c'mon, you can tell us. Does he have something against exchange students?"

"Was he mad that Snape actually seemed to like you?"

The questions continued in spite of Tim's protests, until Ron finally decided to exert his prefect authority.

"**_Enough!_**" he roared. They all looked at him in surprise.

"He **_said_** he doesn't want to talk about it. So let him be already!" Tim shot Ron a grateful look.

"Hey, it's still early," Harry suddenly said. "Ron, Hermione, let's take Tim down to Hagrid's hut." This suggestion was met with enthusiastic approval, and the four of them climbed back out the portrait hole and headed out of the castle.

They had gotten about halfway down the hill when Harry suddenly thought of something.

"You know... we haven't taught Tim how to fly yet." Tim stopped dead in his tracks.

"Fly... as in... broom?"

"Broom**_stick_**, Tim. Yeah, that's something you definitely need to know. Have you ever flown before?"

"In a **_plane_**."

"In a **_what_**?" Ron asked.

Hermione intervened. "A flying machine that carries people in its belly through the air. Some of them can carry hundreds of people at once."

"Wow... cool!"

"Anyway," she continued, slightly exasperated. "Harry's right, Tim, and now's probably as good a time as any."

"I'll get my broomstick, and he can try it," Harry offered.

"**_NO!_**" Hermione and Ron shouted together. Harry looked at them in surprise.

"Why not? Didn't you just say now was a good time?"

"Harry, **_think_**. Do you **_really_** want to start Tim out on a **_Firebolt_**?" Hermione said. Harry suddenly looked sheepish. "Oops."

"I'll get mine," Ron said. "**_Accio Cleansweep!_**" A moment later, a broomstick zoomed toward them, stopping right in front of Ron. Tim looked at it apprehensively, taking it as Ron held it out to him.

"Don't worry, it won't bite. Straddle it...that's right. Now, grip the handle firmly, and kick off from the ground, hard." Tim gripped the handle, took a deep breath, bent his knees, and pushed off. The broomstick went gently upwards, and hovered, wobbling slightly, about ten feet up in the air.

"What do I do now?"

"Lean forward."

Tim obediently leaned forward, and the broomstick shot straight ahead. "**_Whoa!_**" He grabbed the handle tighter to avoid being thrown off, inadvertently pulling it upward. The broomstick responded by quickly gaining altitude. He leaned forward to try to keep his balance and pushed the handle down, which resulted in the broomstick smoothly arching over into a high-speed dive. He automatically leaned back, and it slowed down, although it continued descending. It felt sort of like flying the Batplane.

As soon as that analogy occurred to Tim, he realized how to work it. Testing out his theory, he leaned to the side, first left, and then right. Sure enough, the broomstick turned in whichever direction he leaned. Leaning forward increased speed; leaning backward decreased it. Pulling the handle up or down resulted in changes in altitude. It took a lot of concentration and sweat, but he finally began to get the hang of it. Eventually he brought it back to where the other three waited, jerking to a stop in front of them.

"Well? What'dja think of it?!" Ron asked excitedly. Climbing off the broomstick, Tim handed it back to him.

"It's kind of a cross between riding a motorcycle, riding a horse, and flying the Batplane," he said. "It's not as easy as it looks, is it?"

Harry grinned. "Glad to see you can't do **_everything_** perfectly the first time," he said, giving Tim a friendly elbow in the ribs. "I was beginning to wonder if you Bat-people were really human." Tim gave him a tired smile.

"Oh, I'm human all right. Batman and Nightwing, on the other hand..." They all laughed. Tim suddenly looked thoughtful.

"What is it?" Hermione had been watching his face change expression.

"Speaking of Nightwing... I wonder if he could do this." The others stared at Tim.

"He's not a wizard... is he?" Ron asked.

"Dumbledore didn't say he was... but he **_is_** an aerialist." At the blank looks, Tim clarified his statement. "A trapeze artist. In the circus, they call them **_flyers_**."

"Ohhhh..." Hermione exhaled in understanding.

"It's worth a try, I guess." Harry sounded doubtful. "When did you want to do this?" Tim grinned at him conspiratorially.

"I'd like to sneak out and do it tonight, if you guys'd be willing–"

"Of course we are!" exclaimed Ron immediately.

"Ron..." Hermione began warningly. Ron didn't let her get any further.

"Hermione, give over! This is important – you said it yourself. Snape's likely to try to get him fired. Think of what a git Snape'll look like, if he accuses Nightwing of being a Muggle, and Nightwing jumps on a broomstick and takes off to prove him wrong!" Ron looked exultant at the very thought.

Hermione frowned, but didn't protest any more.

"–but I still see a problem." Tim finally finished his sentence. "How do we get him a message to meet us tonight?"

"That's what Midnight is for," Harry informed him. Ron banished his broomstick back to his trunk, and the four of them turned around and headed back up the hill, toward the castle and the Owlery.

Dick sat across from Professor Dumbledore. On the Headmaster's desk lay a piece of parchment, on which Dick had drawn a detailed diagram of what he needed done in order for him to carry out his performance. Dumbledore looked up from studying the drawing.

"Now if I understand you correctly, Richard, all you wish me to do is hold these broomsticks in these exact positions..."

"That's correct, Professor. If you can do that for me, I'll do the rest."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"I saw a circus performance once... long ago. I rather doubt that anyone else here has ever seen one, so if you are as good as you say, it should make a rather... convincing... demonstration of... shall we say...non-Muggleness."

"Enough to stop any rumors?"

"Oh, yes. It will certainly do that." Dumbledore's lips twitched at some hidden amusement, which he did not volunteer to share with Dick.

At that moment, a Great Horned Owl flew into the office and landed on Dumbledore's desk. It dropped a parchment in front of Dick, hooted softly, and flew back out the window. Dick looked at Dumbledore, picked up the parchment, and read the message.

"Robin needs to meet with Batman and me later tonight."

"Well, off with you, then!" Dumbledore made shooing motions with his hands. "Go on, go on... we'll decide when to set up this performance if it becomes necessary." He suddenly looked thoughtful. "I wonder if we could supply popcorn and peanuts to the audience. I remember enjoying that very much."

Dick laughed and rose to his feet. "Thank you, Professor." He headed for the door, then stopped. "Professor... do you think... would Fawkes let me pet him again?" There was a sudden, naked longing in his eyes.

Dumbledore waved a hand in acquiescence. "By all means, by all means. Just be warned of one thing, Richard..." His expression was serious, but his eyes were twinkling again.

"Yes, sir?"

"If you begin, he may never let you stop."

Dick smiled and hurried over to the phoenix's perch. He reached up to stroke Fawkes again around the chest and neck feathers, murmuring to him in Romany, and the bird trilled his delight. The two of them remained entranced with each other for nearly a quarter of an hour, before Dick reluctantly brought his hand down again.

"I'm sorry, Fawkes, but I have to go now," he whispered. "I'll come back and visit you again, though, as soon as I can – if that's OK with you, Professor?"

"Of course, young one, of course. Whenever you like. Fawkes will be most appreciative." Dick smiled, bade farewell to the phoenix, and went back to his room.

Ron and Hermione were sitting in the Gryffindor common room together just before midnight. As usual, Hermione was at the table studying, while Ron was curled up in a chair by the fireplace reading a book on Quidditch. They heard a door softly close somewhere up the boys' spiral staircase. They looked up, but saw nothing, until Harry's Invisibility Cloak suddenly opened before them, revealing Harry and Robin underneath it. Harry was carrying Ron's broomstick. Ron and Hermione quickly joined them under the cloak, and the four of them moved stealthily from Gryffindor Tower, out of the castle, and down to the Quidditch stadium, entering the pitch via the team entrance.

"What's this all about?" Robin was expecting it, but Batman's gruff voice startled Harry, Ron, and Hermione into jumping half out of their skins. Pulling off the cloak, they stared into the shadows; then Ron turned to Robin.

"Does he **_always_** do that?" he demanded. Robin opened his mouth to answer, but Nightwing was faster.

"Whenever he can get away with it," he smirked. Then he turned serious. "However, this time he has a point. What **_is_** this all about?"

Robin described his flying experience, and explained his idea of having Nightwing try out a broomstick. Batman looked profoundly skeptical, but Nightwing was intrigued.

"So you think my aerialist talent actually might reflect some wizard ability?"

"It does follow logically from what we were discussing after dinner, if you think about it," Robin pointed out. "The worst that could happen is that the broom won't do anything." He shrugged. "But if it does work..."

"It could solve a lot of problems." Nightwing nodded decisively. "All right, I'm game." He took hold of Ron's broom and studied it as well as he could in the moonlight. None of them wanted to risk wandlight being spotted from the castle. "How do you operate this thing?"

Robin concisely described what he had figured out regarding the mechanics of broomstick handling. Nightwing listened carefully, before mounting the broomstick and launching himself into the air with a powerful thrust of his legs.

**_ZOOOOOM!!! _**The broomstick shot up like a fighter jet climbing for the stratosphere. Nightwing arced it over into a descending spiral, then wheeled through a series of inside and outside loops, snap rolls, barrel rolls, and other high-intensity aerobatic maneuvers.

Harry, Ron and Hermione watched his performance in shock.

"He's as good as you are...I never thought I'd see it," whispered Hermione to Harry.

"What are you talking about – he's **_better _**than I am!" Harry whispered back. "If he's this good on Ron's Cleansweep, imagine what he could do on my Firebolt!"

Ron started to smile. "Yeah... and imagine what Snape's gonna think when he sees it!"

Robin simply watched Nightwing's antics with a huge grin on his face. Even Batman wore a half-smile as he observed his protegé cavort through the night sky.

At length, Nightwing brought the broomstick back to earth. Making a precision landing right in front of them all, he hopped off the broom and gave it back to Ron. The grin on his face was a twin to Robin's.

"What a rush!!!" he exulted quietly, running his hands through his hair in sheer delight. "Guess you were right, Robin!" He shook his head in wonder. "Me, a wizard! Huh. Who'd a thunk it?" He abruptly turned to their mentor.

"OK, Batman. Your turn."

Batman's half-smile vanished.

"No."

"Yes."

"Absolutely not."

"Positively yes."

"Nightwing, I am **_not_** a wizard."

"And your evidence for that **_is_**...?"

As Robin watched the quiet argument between the two vigilantes, his attention was caught by Batman's appearance. Something about the Dark Knight looked... odd. There was a... bulge... on his back, just below his right shoulder. Robin narrowed his eyes and looked closer. As his eyes traced the dark outline against the black cape, Robin suddenly realized what he was seeing, and he started to grin. Silently motioning to the other three Gryffindors, he pointed. The others followed his finger with their eyes, and then Ron started to chuckle softly. At the sound, Batman swiveled to face the four students.

"**_Yes?_**"

Robin was unintimidated by the low growl. "I see you brought company along," he commented in amusement. Batman scowled at him.

"I'm delighted to see your observation skills are still intact," he stated coldly.

Harry looked at Robin. "Company?" he asked quietly.

"Shadow – his bat – is hanging upside down on his cape," Robin answered. Harry looked again, and then clapped both hands over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

Meanwhile, Batman had turned back to Nightwing.

"This matter is not open for discussion."

Nightwing sighed in exasperation. "For someone who's supposedly the World's Greatest Detective, you're certainly being stubborn about refusing to get the facts about the situation. That title is a clue right there."

"How so, Nightwing?" Hermione asked hesitantly. She wasn't sure whether she really wanted to get in the middle of the 'discussion', but her curiosity was getting the better of her caution. Batman turned to glower at her for her temerity in interrupting them, but Nightwing was more than willing to answer her.

"Look, Robin's ability as a wizard seems to be related to his computer ability, right?"

"Right..."

"And no one thought I might have any... well, for lack of a better term, let's call it 'magical talent'... until he and I were discussing my aerialist skills, right?"

"Right..."

"Well, then, if Batman has the genius-level detective ability implied by that title, wouldn't it make sense that–"

"–he's a wizard, too! Batman, he's right! You have to try it!"

Batman sighed.

"Hermione, it's not the same. Their ability is natural. Mine required many years of hard work to develop."

"So? Most wizards require many years of hard work to develop their skills. Why do you think Hogwarts exists in the first place? Very few of us were any good at magic when we first started." Hermione's gift for argument was in full swing now. She loftily ignored Ron's muttered comment of, "Except you."

"The only one I've seen, in the six years we've been here, has been Harry," she continued. "He's a natural at flying, just like Nightwing. But he's had to work at everything else. Tim's the only one I've ever seen who seems to be naturally good at every magical subject–"

"He **_what_**?"

Hermione was momentarily thrown off balance by Batman's sharp question. Harry came to her rescue.

"When we were tutoring him yesterday, he picked up every spell we tried to teach him, and did it perfectly the first time. I even taught him the Patronus Charm, which is very advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts magic, and he got it first crack." There was silence for a minute after Harry finished.

"Well," the Dark Knight said slowly. "That does rather cast matters in a different light."

All of the rest, even Nightwing and Robin, looked mystified. Nightwing was the first to recover.

"How?" he demanded. Batman waved a hand dismissively at him.

"I'll explain later. Meanwhile, I believe I have an experiment with a broom to conduct?"

Ron held out the broomstick to Batman. Before taking it, Batman bent his head to his right shoulder and murmured something, too softly for them to hear. A winged shape detached itself from his cape and soared up, circling above his head. Batman straddled the broomstick and pushed off, following the bat into the air.

The others silently watched him fly. His flying style was closer to Tim's than Nightwing's, efficient and methodical rather than flamboyantly artistic. For all that, though, Robin felt he and Shadow made a beautiful sight, circling each other, dark figures against dark sky.

He didn't remain in the air for long, testing out a series of basic maneuvers before returning to the ground. Absently handing the broomstick back to Ron, he held up his arm. Shadow came circling in, swung her feet around, and latched onto Batman's sleeve, upside down. She worked her way up his arm and around to his shoulder before settling in.

"What do you feed him, anyway?" Ron asked. "Don't bats eat bugs?"

"**_She_** is a fruit-eating bat," Batman answered, in a gentler voice than usual. Then his voice took on its usual rasp.

"We'll discuss the results of tonight's experiments at a later time. Let's go, Nightwing. The rest of you, back to your dormitory." With that, he melted into the darkness. Nightwing took a moment to wish the others good-night, before following suit.

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**


	12. Chap 11: Insights

Disclaimers and other info in Prologue

**WARNING: Major spoilers for all five Harry Potter books!**

**

Sufficiently Advanced Technology...

**

...**_is indistinguishable from magic._– Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 11 – Insights**

Very early Thursday morning, Bruce was awakened by Professor Dumbledore's loud voice in his ear. He immediately snapped to full awareness, wondering how the old Headmaster had managed to enter his room, much less get all the way to his bed, without alerting him. Momentarily confused when he saw no one in the room, Bruce realized it was only a magical message when he heard the voice repeat itself.

"All teachers please come at once to the staff room for a meeting."

The message continued to 'replay' as Bruce quickly dressed and left his room. In the hall between their rooms, he ran into Dick.

"Any idea how to shut this thing off?" Dick asked plaintively. Bruce shook his head, and so they hurried to the ground floor of the tower and along the castle corridors, with the summons still echoing in both their minds.

All of the other teachers were converging on the staff room. There was momentary chaos as they all tried to get through the door at once, but it was quickly sorted out. As Bruce entered the room, his gaze met Dumbledore's for an instant. The Headmaster nodded slightly and made an almost imperceptible gesture with his wand. The voice in Bruce's ears was cut off mid-word. The momentary relief on Dick's face as he took his seat showed that he, too, welcomed the sudden quiet.

Of course, 'quiet' was a relative term. The staff room was abuzz as teachers speculated to each other on the possible reasons for the sudden meeting. When Dumbledore stood up, however, every eye turned to him, and all conversation ceased. The Headmaster's face bore no trace of its usual affable expression. His eyes were sharp and cold, filled with mingled sadness and anger.

"I have received word that two more villages, both near Hadrian's Wall, were attacked last night. The inhabitants of both Tyneburn and Lambsdale were completely annihilated."

Gasps sounded throughout the room.

"But... Albus..." Professor Trelawney stammered, her voice for once completely devoid of dreamy affectation. "Tyneburn had a sizable wizard population! Surely they weren't..." Her voice trailed off as she saw him sadly nodding.

"Yes, Sibyll, they were. Wiped out to the last man, woman and child."

The silence in the room reverberated from the rafters.

"How many dead, Albus?" Professor Vector barely managed to choke out the question.

"Four hundred seventy-three in Tyneburn; five hundred sixteen in Lambsdale."

The teachers sat stunned. Tears were dripping down several faces.

"I regret that I had to break this news so suddenly, but it will undoubtedly be prominently featured in this morning's _Daily Prophet_, and as several of our students receive that publication, I thought it was best that you be informed." Dumbledore took a deep breath. "If there are no further questions, I suggest–"

"Headmaster..." Professor Flitwick's high-pitched, squeaky voice interrupted him.

"Yes?"

"Maybe this isn't the time to bring it up, but... seeing as we're all together here... surely you're aware... I really think we need to discuss..." Flitwick paused uncertainly for a moment, then went on.

"The rumors flying about the school the past few days... all the students are talking about it... I'm sure there will be owls arriving from parents soon... after the damage to Hogwarts' reputation last year–"

"What **_are_** you talking about?" Professor McGonagall snapped, her patience wearing thin.

"Why, about Professor Johnson being a Muggle, of course."

Every head in the room turned to Flitwick, and then swiveled to stare at Dick, who managed to look appropriately shocked at the accusation. Dumbledore sighed.

"Come, come, now. Surely we all have better things to do at this point than listen to rumors. I believe we–"

"Headmaster." This time the interruption came in Professor Snape's oily voice. Dumbledore turned to him.

"You have a suggestion, Severus?"

"I do, Headmaster. It would seem this difficulty has its own built-in solution." Snape smirked unpleasantly at Dick. "All Professor Johnson would need to do is to disprove the rumor by performing some simple magic. Perhaps he could demonstrate something for us right now." Dick drew breath to respond, but Dumbledore held up his hand.

"You are quite right, Severus. But a demonstration to the staff will not do at all. The students, unfortunately, will not all accept the teachers' word on such a serious matter. A simple declaration from us will not be sufficient to quash such a rumor. No, this must be a public demonstration...this evening, I think, in front of the entire school, so that none can continue to doubt."

Snape's smirk broadened to a triumphant grin.

"Now, if no one else has anything... no? Good. Then let us all proceed with the day." The teachers rose, leaving the staff room in twos and threes. Dick hung back to speak to Dumbledore.

"Headmaster," Dick said quietly, when there were none left in the room but himself, Bruce and Dumbledore. "I found out the other night that I actually can fly on a broom, so we really don't need to do the aerial demonstration we discussed earlier."

"Ah, so young Mr. Drake is not the only wizard among you! I had wondered about that, I admit. And can you also handle a broomstick, Bruce?" Bruce nodded. Dumbledore sighed in relief. "After today's news, it probably is just as well." Then his face fell. "But must we really cancel the performance? I was **_so_** looking forward to it."

Dick had to laugh in spite of the gravity of the situation. Dumbledore looked exactly like... well, like a kid who had just been told his trip to the circus had been cancelled.

"No, Headmaster. If you really want to see it, and are still willing to help me, we don't have to cancel it." Dumbledore smiled.

"Thank you, Richard. Sometimes it is the smallest joys that give us the strength we need to go on in dangerous times. Now, let us go appreciate another small joy – that of breakfast." He motioned them towards the doorway, and the three of them walked together to the Great Hall.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

After all the students had seated themselves, Professor Dumbledore rose to address the school.

"It has come to my attention that there is a vicious rumor circulating in the school. Rumors and gossip are detrimental to the process of education, so it will be necessary to do something about them. To that end, there will be an event in the Quidditch stadium this evening at eight o'clock. Attendance is mandatory for everyone, staff and students alike." He sat down, and reached for the platter of eggs.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The _swoosh_ of soft wings heralded the usual arrival of the morning mail. To Tim's surprise, Midnight landed in front of him and held out her leg. He removed the note and opened it, while Midnight snatched a sausage from his plate before fluttering off.

"Bruce and Dick need–" Tim's quiet voice was interrupted by Hermione's gasp.

"**_Oh, my gosh!"_**

"Hermione, what is it? What's happened?" Worried questions came from the Gryffindors seated around her. She lifted the _Daily Prophet_ so they could all see the headline.

_**HUNDREDS OF WIZARDS, MUGGLES KILLED IN DOUBLE ATTACK!**_

She turned the paper back around and skimmed the article, reading the major points out loud in a choked voice. Cries of shock and outrage from nearby students punctuated her account. They were echoed by similar horrified exclamations scattered throughout the Great Hall, as other students read their newpapers aloud – although Harry noted that none of this horror seemed to come from the Slytherin table.

"The villages of Tyneburn and Lambsdale, both near Hadrian's Wall... unprovoked attack... all human life obliterated... almost a thousand people dead... four hundred seventy-three people in Tyneburn, including over one hundred wizards... five hundred sixteen in Lambsdale... Ministry of Magic looking into the matter..."

Snorts of disgust greeted this last bit of information.

"Looking into it, right! Overlooking it, more bloody likely!" Dean Thomas scoffed. "They've made a right mess of this all along!" Nodding heads up and down the table showed that he had summed up the feelings of most of his fellow Gryffindors.

It was a subdued group of students who trooped out of the Great Hall to head for class.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Harry arrived at the door of Dick's classroom at eleven-thirty that morning. He walked in the door to find both Bruce and Dick waiting.

"Who else is coming?" Bruce asked. Harry shrugged.

"No one. Tim and Hermione have Arithmancy right after lunch, and Ron has a huge pile of homework."

"So why don't you have a huge pile of homework?" Dick asked, with a quirk of his lips.

"I did mine last night," Harry said simply. "So what did you need us for?"

"You didn't read the note?"

"Tim didn't show it to us. He just said that you needed someone to help you this afternoon."

"Well," Dick began. "We need to find a location, reasonably close to Hogwarts, but outside the ban on technology, where we can set up a base of operations. We need to do some research, if we're going to find a way to stop Voldemort."

Harry thought a moment. "What sort of location would you need?"

"An abandoned building, a cave, something of that sort," Bruce answered.

Harry thought some more. "Well, it seems like the best way to do this would be from the air."

They looked at him.

"You mean by broom?" Bruce asked. "How would we avoid being seen?"

"Broom**_stick_**. You're trying to blend in, right? Wizards call them **_broomsticks_**," Harry corrected. "We'll use mine and Ron's, and we'll borrow a school broomstick. As far as not being seen goes, I can Disillusion us."

"You can **_what_**?" Dick asked.

"Disillusionment Charm. It sort of... turns us into human chameleons, I guess would be the best way to put it. We blend into the background."

"Huh. Bruce, we need to learn how to do that. Think of how handy it'd come in back in Gotham!"

Bruce ignored Dick's last comment. "Let's go."

"You want to go now, or you want to wait till after lunch?" Harry asked.

"We'd better go now," Dick said. "We don't know how long it'll take to find what we need, and I have to be back for the performance tonight."

"Performance?"

"I'll explain on the way."

"OK," Harry said. "I need to get the broomsticks, so I'll meet you at the foot of your tower in... fifteen minutes."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Dick and Bruce were waiting in the shade of their tower when Harry appeared right in front of them, pulling off the Invisibility Cloak. Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you said you could Disillusion us."

Harry looked at him. "**_I_** thought this was supposed to be secret. How else was I supposed to get through the school unnoticed while carrying three broomsticks, not to mention this?" He held out a shoulder bag, which contained food and water.

Bruce scowled and held out his hand. Harry handed him the school broomstick, giving Dick Ron's Cleansweep. Then Harry pulled out his wand and tapped each of them on the head in turn. Dick made a face.

"Yuk. That feels gross."

Harry smiled. "Yeah, I know. But look down at yourself." Dick did. He saw the green lawn through a very faint outline of himself.

"Huh." He raised a hand to touch the wall of the tower, observing that his hand and arm took on the appearance of rough brownish stone. "So how do we keep track of each other?"

"Corona Charm."

"Excuse me?"

"**_Aurora Luminari!_**" Still looking at his hand, Dick saw it begin to glow faintly blue. He glanced down at himself to see the dim aura surrounding his entire body. He looked back at Harry, who shone faintly green.

"That'll work."

"If you're completely done admiring yourself..." Bruce's acerbic comment came out of a muted silver shimmer.

"Hold on a sec... **_Exaudio!_** OK, we can go now."

"I take it that one allows us to hear each other without yelling," Bruce said, as he mounted the broomstick and kicked off.

"That's right." Harry sounded as if he were right beside Bruce, instead of a barely-visible green glow flying fifty feet to Bruce's right.

"Dick?"

"Read you loud and clear, boss."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"There's a possible cave at eleven o'clock."

Bruce and Harry swung their broomsticks slightly to the left at Dick's call. They had been flying for more than two hours, scanning the steep, rocky hills and narrow valleys surrounding Hogwarts, landing several times to investigate likely spots. So far, none had proved satisfactory – at least to Bruce. They were too small, too open, or otherwise unsuitable.

This one was a little different. It appeared to be a shadow, overgrown with brush and scraggly trees, halfway up a hillside so steep that for all practical purposes, it might as well have been a cliff. There was a small outcropping of rock at its base. Upon flying closer, they could see that the shadow was indeed a hole in the rock.

"Harry, you've got the best broomstick control – can you land on that outcropping?" Bruce asked.

"Should be able to..." and Harry suited actions to words. His green glow showed brighter against the shadow for a moment, before it disappeared into the opening.

"**_Lumos!_**" A minute or two went by, while Bruce and Dick hovered next to the cliffside, before Harry's glow reappeared just inside the entrance.

"Hey, guys! If you're careful, you should be able to land on that ledge with no problem. I think this place might be exactly what you're looking for!"

"Go ahead, Dick."

"No offense, Bruce, but I think you should go first. That way, I can fly down and pick up the pieces if necessary." Bruce's response was a growl, but his silvery outline moved to approach the ledge.

Dick followed Bruce onto the landing and into the cave entrance, heading for the light from Harry's wand. Harry undid the Disillusionment and Audibility Charms, but he left the Corona Charm active to give them a little more light underground. Then he led them down a short passage and around a jutting mass of rock. Dick whistled in admiration. The echo came back to them from the far wall of an irregularly-shaped, spacious cavern. Bruce immediately began to cautiously explore.

"Very good, Harry. This looks like it will do nicely." He came back to where the other two waited.

"Now, Harry, I need something else from you." Uncharacteristically, Bruce hesitated for a moment before continuing, and a sympathetic expression came over his face. "I know this will be hard, but I need you to tell us, in detail, about your experiences and encounters with Voldemort and his followers."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He wasn't surprised by the request – he had known it would come eventually. Batman needed to know about Voldemort if he was going to fight him effectively. But that wouldn't make reliving it any easier.

"It's a pretty long story. You might want to sit down. We can eat while I talk." He took his own advice, finding a spot on the stone floor where he could lean against the wall. Dick perched himself on a protruding rock spur, while Bruce sat cross-legged facing them.

"I don't know how much you guys already know," Harry began tentatively. Dick smiled at him encouragingly.

"Assume we don't know anything, and begin at the beginning. That way you won't leave anything out," he said. Harry nodded, took a deep breath, and began.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Harry took another deep breath. He had been talking steadily for an hour and a half. He had told them about growing up with the Dursleys, and about how he had found out he was a wizard and learned the truth about his parents' deaths. He had described his first year at Hogwarts, and how he had saved the Sorcerer's Stone from Quirrell and Voldemort, inadvertently killing Quirrell in the process. About his second year, Tom Riddle's diary, the Chamber of Secrets, and the basilisk. And his third year, the dementors, and Sirius. His voice had choked up a little as he talked about how he had thought, for a little while, that he might have a real home, with someone who cared about him, until Pettigrew had escaped, and Harry's hopes had flown away with Sirius. He had had to stop and clear his throat before going on to his fourth year and the Triwizard Tournament. Bruce and Dick had questioned him very closely about the fake Professor Moody, the Polyjuice Potion, and especially what had happened in the graveyard – Cedric's death, Voldemort's return, the reunion of the Death Eaters, and the fight between him and Voldemort. They had been especially interested in _Priori Incantatum_, the result of the connection between his wand and Voldemort's. But the worst part was still to come. He still had to tell them about his fifth year.

He began by explaining why Dumbledore had insisted he return to the Dursleys every summer. He continued with the dementor attack in Little Whinging, and how that had resulted in his being removed to a place of safety. At this point he hesitated, unsure of exactly how much to reveal.

Dick seemed to see right to the heart of his indecision.

"It's all right – Professor Dumbledore has told us about the Order of the Phoenix," he said quietly.

Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief. It would have been extremely hard to tell them about the events of the past year without mentioning the Order.

He went on to describe the hearing at the Ministry of Magic, and how it had almost resulted in his expulsion. He had to work really hard to control his anger, as he described how the _Daily Prophet_, apparently acting on orders from the Ministry, portrayed him as a liar who would say anything to get fame and attention. Along with this, he told them all about Dolores Umbridge. Although she was not one of Voldemort's followers, somehow he felt it was important for them to know about her – setting the dementors on him, trying to get him expelled, refusing to teach the students any defensive magics, torturing him during detention, outlawing all student organizations, trying to get Professor Dumbledore arrested and his supporters fired – all the things she had used the power of her position to do the previous year.

Bruce nodded.

"The end justifies the means – it seems to be the motto of overzealous patriots the world over," he said. "They believe that any action they take to protect the government is justified, no matter who they hurt or whose rights are trampled."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Minister Fudge is the same way." He fell silent for a minute, until Bruce asked him to go on.

Harry explained how the students had formed an underground group, which they had called Dumbledore's Army, to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts magic. At Bruce's request, he demonstrated some of the defensive spells and charms that he, Hermione and Ron had taught to Tim the previous Sunday, along with some of the more advanced ones that he had taught to the DA. Dick was enthralled with Harry's Patronus.

"Harry, do you think you could teach me how to do that?" he asked eagerly.

"I could try," Harry said, a little doubtfully. "It's pretty advanced magic."

"But you said Tim was able to learn it, right? So I probably could, too."

"Okay. You take your – hang on – you need a wand, and you don't have one." Dick's face fell.

"Wait a minute, Harry," Bruce intervened. "Why does Dick need a wand?"

"Because he... because he... because he just... **_does_**!"

"What if he were to perform the spell without one?"

"**_How?_**" Harry was really confused now.

"Didn't you tell us about all the strange things you managed to make happen before you knew you were a wizard? You didn't need a wand for those."

"Yeah... and how about when you blew up your Aunt Marge?" Dick added.

Harry thought hard.

"Yeah... I guess so. But I didn't do those on purpose... they just... happened."

"If you can do some spells without a wand, it stands to reason that any spell can be performed without one," Bruce stated.

"All right." Harry submitted to Bruce's logic. "But I don't know how to teach Dick to do it."

"Just show him how you do it with a wand, slowly. Dick..." Bruce looked at Dick and waited. Dick recognized Bruce's teaching mode.

"I repeat the same hand motions without the wand, right?"

"Exactly."

"Actually, there isn't any particular motion for this spell," Harry noted. "You just raise your wand when you say the incantation. What you do, Dick, is come up with one really happy memory or thought. Then you focus all your attention on it. When it's the only thing in your head, then say the incantation _Expecto Patronum_." He demonstrated again, and the silvery stag erupted once more from Harry's wand.

"Now you try."

Dick's gaze seemed to turn inwards. Bruce smiled secretly. He recognized the look, having seen it many times as Dick was growing up. Robin had worn it every time he tried a new fighting or gymnastics maneuver.

After a moment, Dick's face cleared. A brilliant smile appeared on his face, and he held out his right hand.

"**_Expecto Patronum!_**" A bright silver shape blasted out of his fingertips.

All three of them stared for a moment, then Dick burst out in delighted laughter.

"**_Elinore!_**"

"It's certainly appropriate, you have to admit," Bruce said, his lips twitching. The glowing elephant raised its silver trunk and trumpeted silently, before reaching out to Dick. The tip of the trunk made a stroking motion next to Dick's cheek; then the elephant dissolved into silver mist.

Harry looked curiously at Dick.

"An elephant?"

Dick had tears in his eyes, although he was smiling even more brightly than before.

"I was a circus brat for the first nine years of my life, Harry, until my parents were killed and Bruce took me in. The three of us had a trapeze act. In fact, the memory I used for the spell was the first time I did a quadruple somersault. Anyway, Elinore was one of the circus elephants, but to me she was my pet and my friend. I used to ride her in the parade at every performance, and it was my special job to take care of her."

Harry nodded. "Makes sense, I guess. Bruce, you should probably try it, too." Before Bruce could object, he added, "Voldemort's got an army of dementors. You'd better be able to defend yourself."

For a moment, Bruce still looked like he wanted to object, but he knew Harry was right. He concentrated for a second, then held out his right hand as Dick had done.

"**_Expecto Patronum!_**"

A cloud of silver vapor issued from his fingertips, but it was tenuous and undefined, and quickly dissipated. Bruce's face set into an expressionless mask.

"I guess I'm not a strong enough wizard." Harry shook his head.

"That's the same thing that happened to me the first time I tried it," he said. "Professor Lupin said I hadn't used a strong enough happy memory. What were you thinking about?"

"My seventh birthday. I'd been wanting a pony for months, and my parents finally got me one."

"That probably wasn't strong enough. Patronuses seem to work best when the memory is really personal, and comes from deep inside."

Dick watched Bruce's face become even more set. He knew this would be hard, since Bruce was very uncomfortable with anything having to do with intense personal feelings. But he also knew Bruce would persist until he got it right. There was too much at stake.

Bruce exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. A minute later, he tried again.

"**_Expecto Patronum!_**"

The results were spectacular. A giant silver bat exploded from his hand, flapped around the cave, and vanished. Dick cheered.

"Much better!" Harry approved. "What memory did you use that time?"

Bruce hemmed and hawed for a moment, looking at the cave floor, before finally coming out with it.

"Dick, you probably won't even remember this. It was late spring, the year you turned eleven. I was standing on the terrace, talking to Alfred, and you were climbing one of the big trees on the lawn. You suddenly came flying out of the tree, charged up the steps, grabbed my hand, and dragged me over to see a nest of baby robins you'd found. I listened to you chattering a mile a minute, and I suddenly realized just how much light you'd brought into my life, and how happy I was that you were there."

Dick and Harry both stared at Bruce, who looked up just in time to see Harry sharply bite his lip and turn away to hide the tears welling in his own eyes. Bruce reached out and put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I know, Harry," he said softly. "Dick and I – we both know." Harry remained motionless for a few moments, before drawing in a shuddering breath.

"I guess I'd better tell you the rest of the story."

He took a long drink of water first. Then he told them about the dreams he had had, and how he had seen the attack on Arthur Weasley at Christmastime. How Professor Dumbledore had assigned Snape to teach him Occlumency. To his own surprise, he found himself admitting how he had hated Snape so much, and been so angry at Dumbledore, that he had neglected to practice, even though the dreams continued. He even told them how he had looked in the Pensieve – how shocked he had been to see his own father and Sirius bullying Snape, and how Snape had thrown him out afterwards. These were things he had never discussed with anyone before. But during the past few days, Tim had told the three Gryffindors a lot about Bruce and Dick, and somehow Harry knew that although the two vigilantes would not approve of his behavior, they would understand. Even though he had met them less than a week before, he felt comfortable talking to them, in a way he never had with anyone else except Sirius. And he had had all too few chances to ever really talk with Sirius. Even then, he had sometimes felt that Sirius hadn't seen him, as much as he had seen the shadow of James. At least Bruce and Dick saw him and accepted him as himself.

And now he was coming to the hardest part of the story. The part he could not forgive himself for.

He stared at the floor, clenched his fists, and told them about the dream of Sirius being caught and tortured by Voldemort. How the dream itself had been a trap. How he and his friends had been lured to the Ministry and the Department of Mysteries, only to be cornered by the Death Eaters. How the six teenagers had fought what seemed to be a hopeless battle, until the members of the Order of the Phoenix had come to their rescue. And...

His throat suddenly closed up on him. He was fighting to stay calm, when he felt a hand on his shoulder again, and looked up to see Dick's eyes, dark with empathy. Dick didn't say anything, and neither did Bruce. They simply waited until he could get himself under control enough to tell them about the battle in the Death Chamber.

As he described how Sirius had fallen through the Veil, and how Lupin had stopped him from trying to follow, he choked up again. This time, Dick wrapped a sympathetic arm around his shoulders.

That did it. He finally lost it, falling apart as he hadn't done since Sirius had died. For three months he had kept himself under rigid control, using anger and pride to keep his grief at bay. It wasn't working anymore. He might be a legend in the wizarding world, a hero to his classmates, but he was still a sixteen-year-old boy, without a single family member left who cared about him. And these were the only two people he had ever met who could truly understand what he was feeling. He buried his face in Dick's chest, his shoulders shaking. Dick simply held him, silently letting him cry himself out.

It was some time before the sobs eased off, and he could begin to think again. He lifted his head from Dick's shoulder, and Dick immediately let go of him. His nose was completely stuffed up, and he sniffed hard as he started searching through his pockets.

"Here." He looked up to see Bruce holding out a handkerchief to him.

"Thanks," he mumbled, taking the handkerchief and blowing his nose hard. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He felt drained, but somehow much calmer than he had been for a long time. It was weird – he didn't even feel embarrassed at his breakdown, although he would have felt totally humiliated if anyone else had seen it. He reached for his water bottle and took another long drink.

"Think you can keep going now?" Bruce asked gently. He nodded.

The rest of the story – Dumbledore's wand-to-wand battle with Voldemort, Voldemort's escape with Bellatrix Lestrange, Fudge's horrified comprehension, Dumbledore's return and his explanation of the prophecy – was quickly told. After Harry finished, Bruce looked thoughtful.

"That certainly gives us a lot of information to work with," he said. "Thank you, Harry. I want to bring Tim, Hermione and Ron here with us, sometime this weekend – I have a theory about magic that I'd like us all to discuss."

Dick suddenly straightened up.

"Uh-oh. What time is it?"

Bruce looked at his watch. A old-fashioned, purely mechanical chronograph, it had continued to work at Hogwarts. Dick's digital watch had been a casualty of the magical ban on technology.

"Six-fifteen."

"We'd better get moving – I've got a command performance tonight!" Harry looked at him, perplexed.

"You said you'd explain that earlier, but you never did. What performance?"

"Oh. Well, you remember on Monday, when Hermione was worried that Professor Snape would find a way to get back at me?"

"Yeah. The rumors?"

"Yeah. Well, Tim & I came up with the idea of me doing an aerialist performance – kinda like high-wire gymnastics, only using broom...**_sticks_** as gymnastic bars. Sort of... being able to fly without a broomstick. So I talked with Professor Dumbledore about it that evening, and he agreed that would probably work. He said he didn't think anyone here would have ever seen anything like it, and he agreed to help. Of course, that was before you kids dragged Bruce and me out and shoved us onto broomsticks and forced us to see we could do it too." Dick smiled at Harry. Harry gave him a weak smile back.

"Anyway, it came up in a staff meeting this morning, and the Headmaster decided that I should do my 'public demonstration' tonight. I told him privately that I could just show everyone that I could fly on a broom now, but he was so disappointed that he wouldn't get to see the performance, that I told him OK, I'd still do it. So we'd better get back. Besides, I'm hungry!"

Harry suddenly realized he was starving. "Yeah, me too."

"We're really not that far away from the castle, so it shouldn't take very long to get back," Bruce pointed out. "We might even be able to catch the tail end of supper."

They walked back to the cave entrance. Harry recast the Disillusionment and Audibility Charms, and they took off into the thick golden sunlight of late afternoon.

**_TO BE CONTINUED... _**


	13. Chap 12: Airs Above the Ground

Disclaimers and other info in Prologue

**

Sufficiently Advanced Technology...

**

...**_is indistinguishable from magic._– Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 12: ** **Airs Above the Ground**

Tim, Harry, Ron and Hermione trooped down to the Quidditch stadium with the rest of the students around seven-forty-five that evening. The sun had set not long before, but the stadium was brightly lit by huge enchanted lanterns, set at the tops of long poles evenly spaced around the perimeter of the viewing stands. As the students climbed to their seats in the various House sections of the stands, they saw a most peculiar setup in the center of the arena.

A number of broomsticks floated in the air above the pitch, spaced approximately ten feet apart. Most were hovering in a horizontal position, either parallel or perpendicular to the long axis of the oval field, at heights ranging from twelve to sixty feet above the ground. There were also a few vertical broomsticks scattered, apparently at random, among the horizontal ones.

At precisely eight o'clock, Professor Dumbledore stood up.

"As I mentioned this morning, there has been a rumor circulating around the school for several days now. I am afraid I must remind you that rumors are the weapons of the cowardly, spread by those who wish to create mistrust and damage honor, yet who themselves are untrustworthy, too craven to honestly and openly stand behind their words. This is unacceptable at this school, especially in light of recent events. If we cannot trust each other, we will become easy prey for Voldemort and his followers."

He paid no attention to the shudder that rippled through the crowd as he spoke the name.

"It would appear that some of you think – or would like others to think – that there is something shameful and dishonorable about being a Muggle, despite the fact that many wizards are of Muggle parentage. So I must also remind you that Muggles are not second-class citizens. Even if the information in this rumor were true, there would be no dishonor in it. But to my knowledge, not one of you has had the courage even to refuse to listen, much less insist that the speaker provide proof of the assertion."

He paused, looking around at the students and the teachers, many of whom squirmed uncomfortably under his implacable gaze.

"Rumors, true or not, are by their nature divisive, inherently designed to create factions and weaken a group of people. Therefore, I have brought you here to see for yourselves just how little truth there is in these particular allegations you have been so diligently passing among yourselves. I ask you to pay close attention to tonight's demonstration, and remember it next time someone whispers an unfounded accusation in your ear.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Professor Richard Johnson."

Dick strode out of the locker room onto the field, stopping just below the lowest broomstick. He unfastened his blue-and-black cloak and let it drop to the ground. Under it he was wearing a leotard and tights, which glittered in the light from the lanterns.

He reached over his head, bent his knees, and jumped straight up, easily catching the broomstick handle six feet above his head. Flexing his legs, he began to swing forwards and backwards, the angle progressively increasing with each oscillation, until his body arced completely over the handle in a perfect circle. He continued to swing around and around, his legs, body and arms absolutely straight, building up momentum with each cycle, until, unexpectedly, he let go of the handle. His body flew upward through the air until his hands made contact with a higher broomstick. He repeated this maneuver several times, until, moments later, he was revolving around the uppermost broomstick, high above the spectators.

Dick slowed his circles, until he was poised in a perfect handstand on the wooden broomstick handle. He held that pose for a moment, then pushed off powerfully with his hands, twisting his body in midair to land, standing, on the handle. He remained in that stance for two full seconds before diving off head first, to the shocked gasps of everyone in the stadium.

That was the beginning of a lightning-fast routine. Dick flew gracefully from one broomstick handle to another, flipping and rotating his body in midair. He tucked into a tight ball, spinning fast in multiple somersaults, stretching out just in time to catch and swing around the next broomstick in his path. Switching hand positions, he reversed direction almost faster than the crowd's eyes could follow. Sometimes he twisted with his body in a straight layout; sometimes he launched into a perfect pike position, falling only to catch another handle at the last moment and send himself soaring skywards again. He caught a broomstick with his feet and swung around it. The swing transitioned into a front flip, and yet another dive to a lower broomstick. Occasionally he would reach out with one hand, snag a vertical handle and pivot around it, switching to the crosswise set of broomsticks to continue the show.

Meanwhile, his eyes apparently fixed on Dick's performance like everyone else, Bruce was in fact constantly scanning the stadium. He wanted to make sure that no one was going to take advantage of this opportunity to harm Dick, whose attention was totally focused on his flying. He also wanted to see if there was anyone among the teachers or the students who seemed disappointed that Dick was truly a wizard, instead of being thoroughly enthralled by his aerobatics.

There appeared to be no danger. Everyone was staring at Dick with rapt attention, gasping or applauding at his maneuvers. Snape, who had probably instigated (or at least encouraged) the rumors in the first place, was gazing skyward, open-mouthed in astonishment. Some of the older Slytherin boys looked rather unhappy, but that was only to be expected, given the report Bruce had heard about Dick's first class. But no one, not even Draco Malfoy, was doing anything other than watching in complete fascination. Even Tim was paying no attention to his surroundings. This was understandable. Although Tim had seen Dick in action many times, he had never seen anything like tonight's performance.

Dick was now approaching the finale of his exhibition. Swinging himself back to the center of the field, he caught the handle of the centermost vertical broomstick, circling it several times to bleed off most of his momentum. At last he swung himself to its apex, perfectly balancing himself on its tip with one hand. He remained motionless, appearing to float in midair for a moment. Then he pushed himself free and dropped. His other hand caught the broomstick handle as he fell past, pulling it towards himself. The broomstick carried him around into a perfect loop, ending with him straddling it in normal wizard-flying position. He rode it once around the stadium, finally coming to a smooth landing exactly where he had started.

Complete and total silence reigned for a moment. Then thunderous applause rose from the stands as Dick made an elaborate bow to Professor Dumbledore and the rest of the teachers. He then turned and bowed to the students, before gracefully reaching for his cloak, swirling it dramatically to settle around his shoulders, and walking off the field.

Tim let out his breath and looked around. Next to him, Ron, Harry, and Hermione were applauding loudly with the rest of the Gryffindors, whistling and cheering at the tops of their lungs. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs' roars of approval were just as loud. Even most of the Slytherins were clapping. Glancing toward the teachers' box, Tim quickly nudged Ron.

"Hey, Ron, you said you wanted to see Snape's face. Better look fast," he advised with a grin. Ron and the others quickly looked up. Most of the teachers were applauding in a dignified yet enthusiastic manner, and Professor Dumbledore looked as delighted as any child at the circus. Snape, however, was scowling like a thundercloud. Ron's face took on a look of supreme contentment.

"Look, Malfoy's just as mad as Snape is," Hermione pointed out. "You don't think they'll try something else, do you?"

"After already making themselves look like fools in front of the entire school? You worry too much, Hermione," Ron retorted. "They'll probably be licking their wounds for days." Hermione glowered at him for a moment, but didn't reply. As they made their way out of the stands and back to the castle, she decided she didn't want to argue. Dick's performance had been too... well... **_magical_**... to let anything spoil the mood he had created.

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_


	14. Chap 13: New Subjects, Part II: Muggle M...

Disclaimers and other info in Prologue

**Sufficiently Advanced Technology...**

...**_is indistinguishable from magic._– Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 13: ** **New Subjects, Part II: Muggle Magic**

The Gryffindor and Slytherin sixth-years collected in the corridor outside the Muggle Sciences classroom first thing after breakfast Friday morning. As she listened to Lavender Brown breathlessly describing the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_, Hermione glanced up to see Draco Malfoy approaching, Crabbe and Goyle shadowing him as usual. She returned her attention to Lavender, intending to ignore Malfoy, but a moment later he made that impossible.

"Bet you're really looking forward to this class, Granger," he drawled. "Right up your alley, I should think. Muggle Sciences...what rot! Mudblood Superstitions, more like!"

Hermione's cheeks reddened at the insult to her non-magic parentage, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a reply. Ron was about to give a hot retort, but abruptly shut his mouth without saying anything. Malfoy's smirk broadened at this apparent display of submission, and he opened his mouth to deliver another cutting remark.

"Would you care to elaborate on your description of my class?"

Malfoy jumped a foot off the ground at the sound of the deep voice just behind him. He spun around to find a pair of cold, glacier-blue eyes staring down at him. He tried to sneer, but the professor's eyes narrowed, and Malfoy suddenly found it impossible to maintain his rude expression. He dimly sensed Crabbe and Goyle sidling away, obviously trying to avoid Bruce's attention.

"I'm waiting." Bruce's eyes were still locked on Malfoy's.

"Umm... I was just... just saying that... that Granger should do really well in this class, sir, because... because she's Muggle-born herself, and... and..." Malfoy's uncharacteristic stammer trailed off as Bruce's eyes iced over.

"**Try** **again**."

Malfoy took a deep breath, his mind racing for a plausible story. But just as he opened his mouth–

"**The truth this time**." Bruce's interjection had the desired effect of derailing Malfoy's thoughts completely, so that he blurted out his real opinion.

"Only Mudbloods like Granger would think there's anything useful that a Muggle could teach a wizard!"

Bruce frowned.

"You obviously had something you felt was of higher importance than listening to the Headmaster last night, Mr. ..."

"Malfoy."

"Malfoy, **what**?"

"Malfoy, **sir**."

"...Mr. Malfoy. And you also haven't paid attention in your History of Magic classes. At the next class, you will present me with five rolls of parchment detailing Muggle contributions to the field of wizardry."

Malfoy's mouth fell open. He was so shocked that he again blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

"Muggle contributions... _what_ Muggle contributions? How am I going to fill five rolls of parchment with something that doesn't exist?"

Bruce smiled, and Malfoy felt a shudder travel down his spine.

"I'm sure you'll find a way – if you intend to pass this class."

Bruce turned to the rest of the class, dismissing Malfoy from his attention.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you will join me, we will explore some of the things that Muggles were able to teach wizards." He opened the classroom door and walked inside. The students silently straggled after him, the Gryffindors trying with all their might to control snickers.

Bruce went to the front of the classroom, and called the roll while the students were taking seats at the polished granite tables. Then he began his lesson.

"Today we will create a fire from a mixture of three rocks." Most of the students looked blankly at him. Pavarti raised her hand timidly.

"Yes, Miss Patil?"

"Umm... Professor Thomson... sir... rocks don't burn. At least... I don't think they do." Bruce smiled at her.

"Let's find out, shall we? You will need the following equipment." He turned to write the list on the chalkboard. The students dug the required mortar, pestle, flint, steel, scales, scoop, stirring rod, dragonhide gloves, and four crucibles out of their bags, laid them on their tabletops, and waited.

"Many scientists, Muggle and wizard alike, have lost their sight through carelessness." He looked sternly around the room, and his voice deepened warningly. "I do not intend that any student of mine will take that risk. The first step in any experiment is putting on your eye protection. You will find a pair of safety goggles on the table in front of you. Please put them on." He set the example, putting on the clear quartz lenses set in a soft rubber frame. When everyone had their goggles on, he continued.

"We are going to create a flammable mixture of graphite, saltpeter, and sulfur. Everyone please come to the front table and take one sample of each mineral. Take them back to your tables, examine them carefully, and write your observations in your notes." He set out three labeled bowls, each containing a number of peach-pit-sized rocks.

After obtaining his samples, Harry scrutinized them closely. The three rocks were quite different from each other. The saltpeter was a whitish crystal, while the sulfur was bright yellow, and smelled strongly of rotten eggs. The graphite had a silvery-gray sheen to it, and felt slightly greasy to the touch.

Bruce waited until the students had finished writing.

"Put your dragonhide gloves on, and using your flint and steel, strike a spark onto each sample and note the results. Do **_not_** put your hands, faces, or clothing directly over the sample." Harry scraped the roughened strip of steel across his chunk of flint, letting sparks fall onto each of the rocks in turn. Nothing happened.

He tried again. Still nothing.

"Professor?" It was Dean Thomas. "Was something supposed to happen?"

"What did you observe happening, Mr. Thomas?"

"Umm..." The professor was obviously waiting for an answer, so Dean screwed up his courage.

"Nothing, sir." He waited breathlessly for the burst of sarcasm he was sure would follow.

"Then that is what you record in your notes." Dean looked confused.

"Nothing, sir?"

"You note that nothing happened when a spark was applied to the sample," Bruce clarified. "Always record exactly what you observe. Nothing more, nothing less. This is one of the cornerstones of science.

"Now, use your mortar and pestle to grind each sample to a fine powder. Place each powder in a separate crucible. You do not want any cross-contamination, so be sure to thoroughly clean your mortar and pestle between samples." The students set to work.

... ... ... ... ...... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Strike a spark into each of your crucibles, and record the results."

Harry again scraped steel across flint and watched sparks fall onto the powdered rock. Again, nothing happened. He looked over at Tim, his expression puzzled – this was **_not_** what he had expected from Bruce's class.

Tim grinned at him, and mouthed, "_Wait for it._" Harry shrugged.

By now the class was starting to get restless.

"Carefully measure out the following amounts into the fourth crucible, and mix thoroughly." Bruce turned to the chalkboard, wrote the proper proportions to use, and waited for the students to comply.

"Strike a spark and record your results." His mouth quirked in a half-smile as he listened to the sighs of exasperation.

_**Whoooosh!**_

"_**WHOA!"**_

Yells of surprise echoed around the room as the powder erupted into geysers of white-hot flames. Stunned silence ensued, followed by delighted applause.

"Can we do it again?!" they begged. Bruce smiled.

"Go ahead. Test different proportions of the three ingredients and see what happens." The students repeated the process multiple times, seeing that some combinations created flame, some fizzled, and some resulted in nothing whatever. Finally Bruce called their attention to the front again.

"You've seen what happens to the mixture in an open container. Now let me demonstrate what happens when you confine it. Come here, please." He waited for the students to gather around the demonstration table, before laying out a piece of thin parchment.

"This mixture is in the same proportions you used the first time," he said, scooping a quantity of it into the center of the parchment. He laid one end of a length of fine cord onto the small heap of powder. Then he carefully folded the parchment tightly around the powder, keeping the end of the cord firmly in place. He picked up the parchment and cord and placed them in a transparent, open-topped cylinder, trailing the cord out of the container and across the table. Picking up the flint and steel, he struck a spark to the loose end of the cord. The cord caught fire, and the flame traveled along the cord to the parchment package.

_**KABOOOM!!!**_

The deafening explosion shook dust down from the rafters.

"This is known as black powder, or gunpowder," Bruce said quietly into the shocked silence. "It changed the history of the world." Then his eyes grew cold, and his expression became forbidding. He looked around, catching every student's eyes, before he spoke again.

"These procedures are to be conducted in this laboratory, under my direct supervision **only**," he said, slowly and clearly. His voice had dropped to a menacing rumble. "Be assured that if any experimentation takes place under any other circumstances, I shall be aware of it, and **There. Will. Be. Consequences. Is that clear?**" He looked around again, as every head nodded in emphatic agreement.

"Good. Clean up your equipment, and you are dismissed."

TO BE CONTINUED... 


	15. Chap 14: Data, and Theory to Go With It

Disclaimers and other info in Prologue

**Sufficiently Advanced Technology...**

...**_is indistinguishable from magic._– Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 14: ** **Data, and Theory to Go With It**

It wasn't easy for all of them to get out of the castle unnoticed Saturday morning, but they managed. By then, Dumbledore had provided Bruce and Dick with broomsticks for their own use, so Harry and Ron only had to scrounge up broomsticks for Hermione and Tim. The Invisibility Cloak let the four students make it unseen to Dick's room in the tower. Harry again performed the various disguising charms, allowing the six co-conspirators to depart the tower via the window, and reach the cave with no one the wiser.

Bruce began the discussion with his characteristic abruptness.

"Based on the events of the past week, I have a couple of theories about the way magic works, but I want a little more data. I assume Harry told you about our conjuring Patronuses. Have any of the rest of you ever performed magic without a wand?" Harry and Hermione nodded, but Ron looked unsure.

"Under what circumstances?"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, then she gestured for him to start. So he described his early experiences with magic, including teleporting himself onto the roof of his school cafeteria to get away from Dudley, turning his teacher's wig blue, regrowing his hair out of sheer horror at the idea of going to school with a ridiculous haircut, and freeing the boa constrictor at the zoo. He ended with an account of inflating his Aunt Marge in his fury after she insulted his parents.

Then Hermione took over. A little abashed, she related how, back when she was about six, a boy who was teasing her about her hair had suddenly sprouted bright pink hair of his own. She described how she had become frustrated when her school experiment on flowers wouldn't grow, and the next morning there were morning-glory vines completely covering her desk. Then there was the time she was writing a report, and she had gotten really tired of having to stop to sharpen her pencil. She had finally broken down and shouted at the pencil to stop getting dull. After that, until the pencil finally broke in half when a classmate stepped on it three months later, she had used it every day, without ever needing the pencil sharpener again. She wound up by recalling that every time she had been really angry when her parents sent her to her room, she would find the door unlocked when she wanted to get out.

After Hermione finished, it was Ron's turn.

"I don't know. I've got five older brothers, plus Ginny, so weird things were always happening at our house, but I have no idea if any of them were my fault or not." He shrugged. "Mum always blamed Fred and George, but then she blames them for everything. Of course, that's because they're usually to blame for everything!" Harry and Hermione, who knew Ron's mischievous older twin brothers well, laughed.

"So, Bruce, does this have any relation to your theories?" Dick asked.

"I think so," Bruce answered. "Let's take them one at a time. First, wands are obviously not necessary to do magic." This sparked an uproar.

"One of the first things they teach here is that we always have to use a wand to do magic!" Hermione objected.

"Yeah, when they expelled Hagrid when he was a student, they snapped his wand in half so he couldn't do magic any more!" Ron put in.

Harry finally managed to get a word in edgewise.

"Hey, guys, I already told you, remember? I saw both of them..." he jerked his head toward Bruce and Dick, "produce Patronuses without wands day before yesterday. And you and I just described how, when we were kids, we used to do it, Hermione!"

Hermione took a deep breath, forcing her logic to overcome five years of training.

"You're right, of course, Harry. But then... **_why_** are the teachers so adamant about using wands?"

"Because they've always done it that way," Ron said. They stared at him, and he shrugged one shoulder dismissively.

"Well, they have! Wizards have been using wands for over a thousand years now. They probably don't even realize there's another way to do it!" he added defensively.

"Ron, I think you've hit the nail on the head," Bruce said. "People who've been trained in only one way to do something often will refuse to try any other method – or let anyone else try – or even admit that another approach could possibly exist."

"**_I_** wonder how they came up with the idea of wands in the first place," Dick said. "What does the wand **_do?_**" There was silence for a moment.

"I wonder if... could a wand be acting as...a focusing device? Sort of like the reflector in a flashlight?" Tim speculated.

"A what?" Harry asked.

"An electric torch," Hermione said exasperatedly. "Tim, are you talking about the mirror behind the bulb?" He nodded. Bruce's brow furrowed thoughtfully.

"Quite possibly. It would make sense – a focusing device would have the effect of concentrating power. That would give the person with one an advantage over someone without one – **_unless_** a person has learned to concentrate their will without such a tool. And **_that_**, once wand use became established, and wizards were taught to use them while still children, would be less and less likely to happen."

"What about the incantation?" asked Hermione. "You can't just point the wand and... **_voila!_** You have to speak the proper incantation, along with the right hand motions."

"I bet the incantation and hand motions work the same as the limits in a computer program – they set the parameters and constraints and structure of the spell," Tim said suddenly. "That forces the brain to specify the exact effect desired, eliminating random outcomes."

"That's why, when children first start doing magic, the results are rather... unpredictable. Which leads directly to my other theory..." Bruce paused, obviously thinking. After a few seconds, Hermione got impatient.

"Which **_is_**...?"

"There's really no such thing as a Muggle." This bombshell was greeted with incredulity.

"**_Excuse me?!?_**" was Harry's response. "You're trying to tell me my aunt and uncle and cousin **_aren't_** Muggles?"

"In a way...wait, wait – hear me out. Would you agree that different people have different talents and abilities?"

"Yeah..." Harry admitted.

"And these talents or abilities can be passed on from generation to generation."

"Yeah..." Harry was forced to agree to that statement, too.

"Do they have to be?"

"I don't think so..." mused Hermione. "I mean, look at me. No one else in my family is magic at all."

"So, people can develop talents and abilities different from those of their family."

"Of course they can." Hermione was becoming impatient again. "But wizardry isn't just an 'ability'. It's a whole different power. I still don't see..."

"Patience," Tim counseled. "Bruce explains theories one argument at a time. Just chill and go with the flow for now." Hermione let out her breath, and settled back to let Bruce continue.

"I think that having the ability to do magic is not an 'either/or' situation, where you're either a wizard or you're a Muggle. In fact, Hermione, I believe it actually **_is_** just another human ability. Human talents have several characteristics in common: they are controlled by one or more regions in the brain; people are born with varying natural levels of them; they can be strengthened by direct or indirect training; and they aren't always identified or recognized for what they are."

He waited while they processed that concept.

"You're saying that being a wizard is no different from, oh, being a musician?" Hermione finally ventured.

"Exactly. And that's a very good analogy. Young children are usually given simple musical instruments – bells or drums, for example – very early. By the time they're in kindergarten, most children can manage to play a simple tune like 'Twinkle, twinkle, little star', while a child with a high natural level of musical ability will often be sounding out complicated tunes or rhythms by that age. If that ability is recognized, and the child is given special training, a great musician may develop. If not, the ability may lie dormant for the person's entire life. And it is more likely that it will be recognized if there's a family history of musical talent."

"But you don't have to have that ability to learn to play an instrument," she objected.

"No, you don't. And many people do learn to play an instrument – but very few of them without at least some of that natural ability will follow music as a way of life."

"But you don't see children doing magic all the time."

"Don't you?"

Dick was the first to break the puzzled silence.

"That one went by a little fast, Bruce," he confessed.

"It's a documented fact that when the human brain is presented with something it does not comprehend, it will often refuse to perceive it. The person literally does not see the inexplicable event." They looked at him blankly. He sighed.

"Think about it. We see children do art, or music, or gymnastics, because we provide the opportunities and we know what it it looks like, so we are prepared to recognize talent when we see it. Magic, on the other hand, is not an expected part of most people's world, and so most people simply don't see it. Or, at least, they don't realize what it is they're seeing. For example – Hermione, when you kept getting out of your room, what was your parents' reaction?"

"My mum would mutter something about forgetting to lock the door again... oh, I see!"

"She came up with a rational explanation that fit with her world view," Bruce concluded. "And when a particular behavior is completely ignored like this, especially in a child, it often becomes completely supressed, finally disappearing altogether – **_unless_** it's extremely strong. I think that's probably what happens to most children in non-wizard families. In wizard families, on the other hand, magic is an expected part of child development, and so parents and other adults are looking for it, and reinforce it when it appears."

Ron broke in.

"Remember what Neville said, way back in our first year? How he couldn't do magic until he was eight, and his family was afraid he was going to be a disappointment to them, and his great-uncle kept trying to force the magic out of him by putting him in dangerous situations so he'd have to save himself?"

"And that's why my aunt and uncle kept punishing me but never told me why!" Harry suddenly realized. "They knew magic existed because of my mum and dad, but they didn't want me – or anyone else – to realize what I was doing!"

"And did anyone?" Bruce asked.

"Naw. The school accused me of climbing on the roof, and of somehow dyeing the teacher's wig. The zookeepers wouldn't talk about the vanished glass at all. It was like they wanted to forget it as fast as they could."

"OK, Bruce, I follow you so far," Tim said. "People aren't pure Muggle or pure wizard, but somewhere on the spectrum in between. But that still doesn't explain the three of us. We don't have any wizard training, but all of us are performing magic like experts."

"Remember I said that some talents can be strengthened by indirect training? There seem to be two general classes of wizardry. Spontaneous wizardry seems to involve finding a solution to a frustrating problem, while deliberate wizardry is more of a focused and directed exercise of will. I think that formal magical education – that is, training in deliberate wizardry – overrides the instinctive problem-solving spontaneity, until it often is lost altogether. You and Dick and I, on the other hand, have trained our brains for years in spontaneous, creative, problem-solving – it's what keeps us alive out on the streets. So have you, Harry – starting out by finding ways to avoid your cousin, and stay out of trouble with your aunt and uncle, and continuing with your activities at Hogwarts." Harry looked startled.

"We've also trained extensively in more directed and focused applications – well, your computer training, Tim, Dick's acrobatics, and our detective work are good examples of that. And all three of us constantly practice exercising our will." His expression flickered momentarily into the humorless smile of the Bat, while Dick snickered. Bruce ignored him and continued.

"For that matter, Hermione, so do you. Your thoroughness and persistence in your academic work is a form of practice in focusing and directing your will to accomplish a task." Hermione blushed

"All of that together has probably worked to strengthen whatever natural magical ability we have, even though we were raised in non-wizard environments. And, finally, we've learned not to close our minds and refuse to accept a possibility just because it's not something we expected. So when the evidence indicated that we should be able to work magic, we were willing to experiment with it. And since we hadn't been conditioned to accept that a wand was an indispensable requirement, we were able to work magic without one."

Tim nodded in understanding. "Could Harry and Ron and Hermione work magic without wands?" he asked.

"It's possible," Bruce answered slowly, "if they can manage to overcome their conditioning."

The four Gryffindors looked at each other.

"We should find a time to try it," Tim said. "If you can manage to learn to do magic without a wand, then we could train some of the others. That could be a really useful ability to have." Harry nodded.

"It sure could," he agreed. "I would have had a lot less trouble in that graveyard if I had known I didn't have to have my wand in my hand. Not to mention what happened at the Quidditch World Cup."

"How about right after lunch?" suggested Hermione. "No time like the present, after all."

"Let's go back to the wands for a minute," Dick said. "I still want to know how they work."

"I think Tim's right – they are focusing devices," Bruce said. "We need to do some research into exactly what it is that the brain does to affect the material world through magic. Then we can figure out how the wand focuses that process."

"All this theory is very nice," Harry interjected, "but how is this research going to help us stop Voldemort? That **_is_** the main goal here, isn't it?"

"Yes, Harry, it is. But for some reason, Voldemort appears to be immune to all magic, except your wand – and trying to use your wand would put you in too much danger. We need to take a different tack. Blocking his magic at the source could be an effective way of defeating him," Bruce explained patiently. "Figuring out the underlying science behind magic is the first step in developing a way to block it."

"Oh. So how do we do that?" Harry pressed.

"**_That_** is a good question. For this kind of research, I normally have access to some of the world's most advanced technology. Some of it's portable enough that I could set it up here – it's just that it would be a little difficult to get WayneTech to ship equipment here." Tim snorted.

"I could just see the FedEx label..._Mr. Bruce Wayne, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Somewhere in the British Isles_," he said. "Somehow I doubt they'd be willing to let Midnight or Shadow pick it up for us, either!"

"Why don't you just go get it yourself?" Ron asked.

Tim cocked his head. "Exactly how are we supposed to do that?"

"Apparating, of course," Ron answered nonchalantly.

"Operating? On whom?"

"Not operating – **_apparating_**. You know – disappearing from here and reappearing over there! My parents and brothers go places that way all the time."

"Huh. Teleportation without the teleporter," Dick said.

"You don't need a receiving device on the other end?" Bruce asked.

"Not that I've ever seen."

"Can we learn how to do it?" Tim was eager for another new spell.

"Them, yes. You, no," Ron told him. "You have to be seventeen to get your license."

Dick started to laugh.

"Underage again, Timmy," he teased. "Better be careful, or you might get arrested for apparating without a license." Then his smile disappeared. "Wait a minute – **_can_** you apparate without a license?"

"You **_really_** don't want to do that," Hermione put in. "The Ministry keeps very close tabs on everyone who apparates. They want to make sure people don't accidentally splinch themselves."

"Splinch themselves? That sounds like a particularly gruesome torture," Dick commented.

"It means you leave half of yourself behind," Ron explained.

Tim shuddered. "No, thanks! I'll leave that to you guys."

"My dad works for the Ministry," Ron said. "He says whenever they detect an unlicensed wizard apparating, they send people out to investigate and put a stop to it. I don't think you want Ministry investigators all over the place out here."

"They can detect **_anything_**," Harry added. "They almost expelled me when a house-elf dropped a pudding on my uncle's dinner guest's head – they thought it was me doing the levitation." They all chuckled.

"Ask Dumbledore to teach you how," Hermione advised. "Then once you get your licenses, you can go get whatever you need."

She paused, remembering something. "You might have to bring him out here to do it, though – no one can apparate within the Hogwarts grounds."

Bruce and Dick looked at each other. Dick smiled.

"I wonder if he's free this afternoon."

**_TO BE CONTINUED... _**


	16. Chap 15: Preparations

Disclaimers and other info in Prologue

**Sufficiently Advanced Technology...**

...**_is indistinguishable from magic._– Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 15: ** **Preparations**

Professor Dumbledore had, indeed, been free on Saturday afternoon, and was quite willing to give Apparition lessons to Bruce and Dick. A few hours of intensive training had enabled them both to master the process, and Dumbledore had assured them they would be able to obtain licenses without having to make a trip to London.

"The Ministry has deputized a number of Remote Apparition Examiners, and I know several of them. After all," he had said, with the usual twinkle in his eye, "imagine the crush if there were only one testing site in Great Britain. People would be waiting in line for months!"

"At any rate," he continued, "I can get a couple of them to come by and test you tomorrow, which means you should have your licenses in hand by Monday afternoon."

Bruce frowned.

"Is that going to compromise our identities?" he asked. Dumbledore waved a hand dismissively.

"No, no, no," he said. "We'll simply tell them that you never had a need to apparate while you were in the States. Since you're teaching here now, though, and we're so far away from a city, it makes perfect sense for you to do it now."

It transpired pretty much as Dumbledore had predicted. After breakfast on Sunday morning, accompanied by an unfamiliar man and woman, he approached Bruce and Dick.

"Professor Thomson, Professor Johnson, I would like to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, the Remote Apparition Examiners for this region." Bruce and Dick shook hands with the pleasant-faced middle-aged couple.

"It's good of you to make a special trip here on Sunday," Bruce said.

"Oh, think nothing of it, dearie. We were delighted when Albus called us," Mrs. Sinclair, a short, plump woman with light brown curls, assured him. "It's always a treat to come to Hogwarts." Her brown eyes sparkled as she glanced around and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Means I get a little holiday from cooking!"

"Humphff!" Her husband growled at her, but his gruff tone was belied by the smile behind his blond beard and the humor dancing in his eyes. "Ah, well, must admit, it's nice to have a little variety now and then."

Mrs. Sinclair rubbed her hands together briskly. "Come along now, let's get your broomsticks and be off! I assume Albus told you that we have to go a little ways out to do the test – can't apparate on the Hogwarts grounds, you know." She shooed them on ahead of her, and Bruce and Dick obeyed, feeling a little like they had been caught up in a cheerily smiling whirlwind.

As they went up the stairs of their tower to get their broomsticks, Dick shook his head.

"You think she's related to Alfred?" he asked wryly. Bruce's mouth quirked in the familiar half-smile.

"They do seem to come from rather the same mold, don't they?"

-------------------------

It was all wrapped up by lunchtime. The Sinclairs had taken Bruce and Dick several miles from the castle, put them both through a number of tests, and then declared themselved satisfied with the Americans' proficiency at Apparition.

"You lads'll do just fine," Mr. Sinclair assured them. Dick hid a smile at someone calling Bruce 'lad.' "We'll send in the information, and your licenses should arrive by owl sometime tomorrow."

"Thank you very much. Will you stay for lunch?" Bruce asked politely.

"Oh, absolutely!" Mrs. Sinclair exclaimed. "Wouldn't miss it for the world!"

"Then we'd better get going, hadn't we..." observed her husband, pointedly glancing at the angle of the sun. All four of them wasted no time climbing back on their broomsticks and taking to the air.

-------------------------

An owl arrived at the teachers' table at lunch on Monday, landing in front of Bruce. He untied the packet from its leg, opening it as the owl flew off. Pulling out the two pieces of parchment inside, he handed one to Dick, stowing the other in a pocket of his robe.

"What'cha got there, Professor?" boomed Hagrid.

"Apparition licenses," Bruce answered casually, picking up his fork again.

"Couldn't you have just used your American ones?" Professor McGonagall asked curiously.

"Never needed 'em there." Dick shrugged. "Living in the city, there was never a real reason to get one. Out here, though..." his voice trailed off and he made an expressive gesture with his hands.

The others nodded, and, curiosity satisfied, turned the conversation to other topics.

-------------------------

By late Monday evening, things were beginning to come together. Bruce and Dick were planning to apparate from their local cave directly to the Batcave. Tim had been disappointed not to be included in the evening's expedition, but he agreed that there was no point in going along, since he couldn't apparate.

"Don't worry about it, kid," Dick had told him. "Once we get the equipment here, you'll be just as busy as we will. Maybe more so."

After all the students were in their dormitories, and the castle had settled for the night, Batman and Nightwing suited up, mounted their broomsticks, and flew from the tower window, Shadow silently following.

-------------------------

Alfred was in the weapons storage area of the Batcave, helping Batgirl replenish her utility belt before going out on patrol. He had just opened the drawer where the Batarangs were stored, when they heard what sounded like two gunshots in quick succession coming from the main area of the cave. Batgirl flipped out of the weapons room, coming up into a fighting stance. A moment later, Alfred was at her side, one of his trusty shotguns cocked and ready. Then he lowered the weapon, his look of surprise quickly changing to one of mild curiosity.

"I had thought you were in England, Master Bruce," he said calmly. "When did you get back?"

"Just now," Batman replied, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he removed his cowl. Alfred frowned.

"If you had let me know you were coming, I would have picked you up at the airport."

"We didn't fly, Alfred," Nightwing said, grinning and taking off his mask. "At least – not by airplane."

"I didn't hear the teleporter activate," Alfred said. Nightwing's grin grew broader.

"We didn't use that, either."

By now, Batgirl had had enough. She marched up to Batman and Nightwing.

"Explain," she demanded. "How you get back? What were loud noises? Where Tim? And what **_that?_**" She pointed to Batman's shoulder.

Nightwing laughed. "One thing at a time," he said, raising his hand to stem the questions. "To answer the first two questions..." he looked to Batman, who nodded.

"Go ahead and show them."

"Okay. Watch this, guys!"

**_CRACK_**!

Alfred's eyebrow rose as Nightwing vanished.

"My word!"

"Where he go?" Batgirl demanded.

"Up here!" They all looked up to see Nightwing standing on the cave's topmost level. Then there was another sharp report, and he was again standing next to Batman. There was a moment of stunned silence. Just as Batgirl opened her mouth to require further explanations, Batman spoke.

"It's called Apparition," he explained. "It's a very long story, which we don't really have time for now. Suffice it to say that Nightwing, Robin and I have discovered... additional abilities... which we are using to track down the person responsible for the mass murders in England. Robin is still there, and we'll be going back as soon as we pick up some equipment and report to the JLA. How is everything here?"

"Under control, thanks to the young lady here, although you should probably communicate with Miss Oracle," Alfred replied. Batman nodded.

"We'll do that."

Batgirl interrupted. "Still want to know – what **_that_** on your shoulder?"

Nightwing chuckled.

"That's his Shadow."

Batgirl and Alfred looked mystified.

"His what?"

Batman glowered at Nightwing. Then he looked down at his shoulder and his expression softened. He held out his arm, and the creature moved out to dangle from his wrist. Looking closer, Alfred and Batgirl could see it was a large bat.

"I guess you'd call her... my familiar. She's... kind of... attached herself to me. Her name's Shadow, and she's a fruit-eating bat. I'll be bringing her with me when we come back home."

Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"I'll have living quarters prepared for her, Master Bruce."

"Thank you, Alfred."

Batgirl now had more questions. "You have bat, too, Nightwing? Robin have bat?" Nightwing smiled.

"Robin has a Great Horned Owl named Midnight. I don't have a familiar."

"Why not?"

His smile faded slightly. "I... don't really know."

"You not want one?"

"It's not that, Cass. The animal does the choosing..."

Alfred spoke up. "Maybe yours just hasn't found you yet, young sir."

Nightwing's expression lightened, and he smiled again. "Thanks for the encouragement, Alfred. I don't know if I really want one, anyway. Be kind of hard to keep a bat in my apartment. The neighbors would probably talk."

The conversation moved on to the list of equipment they needed. Only Batman noticed the faint shadow lingering in Nightwing's eyes.

-------------------------

A couple of hours later, Batman added a last box to the large pile of equipment on the floor of the Batcave.

"That's all of it. Nightwing, start taking it back to the cave. I'll join you after I check in with Oracle and the JLA." Nightwing nodded, laid his hand on a large metal briefcase, and with a loud **_CRACK!_** was gone. Moments later, he reappeared, only to vanish again, taking a large cylindrical device with him. He continued to flicker in and out of sight for some time, the equipment pile growing steadily smaller. Finally he disappeared with the last box, popping back into the Batcave just as Batman walked down from the main computer level.

"Nice of you to show up now that the work's all done," Nightwing remarked.

"Sorry. Had to explain to Oracle what all the loud bangs were about."

Nightwing looked curious. "What did you tell her?"

One corner of Batman's mouth twitched. "That you were working the bugs out of a new cargo transportation method." He turned to Alfred, who was carefully maintaining a straight face, ignoring Nightwing's choking noises.

"Alfred, this may turn out to be an extended trip. I'll check in frequently, so don't be surprised to find me here."

"Very good, sir. I will, of course, continue to support Miss Cassandra's endeavors to maintain Gotham City in a crime-free condition."

Batman nodded. "From what Oracle says, she's doing a good job."

"I will let her know that. Take care of yourselves, sirs."

"Of course we will, Alfred. Don't we always? Wait, don't answer that!" Nightwing quipped as he and Batman vanished, leaving Alfred shaking his head in mock exasperation.

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_


	17. Chap 16: Extracurricular Activities

Disclaimers and other info in Prologue

**Sufficiently Advanced Technology...**

...**_is indistinguishable from magic._ – Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 16: ** **Extracurricular Activities**

The message had gone out to the former members of Dumbledore's Army: Meet in the Room of Requirement at 8:00 pm Tuesday. By 7:55, Tim, Hermione, Harry, and Ron had the Room set up and ready. Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood were the first to arrive. Over the next ten minutes, the rest of the students trickled in, looking curious as they found large cushions to sit on. Colin and Dennis Creevy brought up the rear, Dennis chattering away as usual.

After everyone had settled, Harry stood up. He still didn't like being the focus of attention, but he had reluctantly agreed with Hermione's declaration that, since he had led the group last year, he was the logical one to present the idea now.

"Hi, everyone," he began uncertainly. "I... I guess you're all wondering why I called this meeting..."

"We know you must have a good reason for it," Ernie Macmillan said. There was a murmur of agreement from the others.

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Ernie," he said. "Well, on to the reason, then. You might remember that during the start-of-term feast, an exchange student from the States was sorted into Gryffindor. For those of you who haven't met him, this is Tim Drake." Tim stood up to a ragged chorus of "Hi, Tim"s.

Harry went on. "While we were getting to know each other, Tim mentioned something about wizard training in the States, and I thought it was really important for us all to hear, because it could give you a real advantage if you're ever faced with a Dark Wizard." He looked around, and saw he had everyone's rapt attention, so he took a deep breath and dove in headfirst.

"You don't need a wand to work magic."

This was met with a split second of utter stillness, followed by almost total chaos. Most of the students were talking excitedly to each other, trying to decide if Harry was serious. A few had leaped to their feet, yelling at Harry for wasting their time with rot. When the ruckus showed no signs of abating after several minutes, Harry and Tim glanced at each other. Tim nodded and stretched out his hand.

"**_Expecto Patronum!!!"_** A silver wolf exploded from Tim's hand, raising its hackles and growling soundlessly at the crowd. The students froze, many with their jaws dropped. The room was suddenly as quiet as if someone had put a silencing charm on it.

Tim stepped forward as his wolf dissipated.

"Harry asked me to teach you how to work magic without wands. Would you like to learn?" Excited murmers of eager interest and curiosity answered him. Tim took a deep breath.

"Technically speaking, this won't be _new_ magic, as much as it will be a new way of doing the magic you're already familiar with," he began. "Probably the easiest spells to use for learning this technique are the Summoning and Banishing Charms. So if you will each take one," he pointed to the pile of pillows, "we can begin."

The students displayed widely varying levels of aptitude for this new skill. Within half an hour or so, several had mastered the technique, sending cushions flying madly about the room, while others were barely managing to get their pillows to quiver. Tim patiently dealt with their frustration, coaxing and explaining again and again. At some point, he wryly commented to himself that he must have come up with at least twenty different analogies for wands as tools of convenience rather than necessity. But his patience was rewarded. By the end of the evening, all the students in the room had grasped the concept, developing at least some proficiency in the procedure. Before leaving the meeting, they all promised to practice. They also agreed to keep it secret for the time being. None of them had forgotten the unpleasant surprise of betrayal at the hands of one of their friends the previous year, or wished to repeat the experience.

Batman and Nightwing spent every evening that week setting up the equipment they had brought from Gotham. By Saturday morning, they were ready to hook up the power and begin actual experimentation.

"This looks like...like...like a mad scientist's laboratory!" Hermione was gazing wide-eyed around the cave. "What on Earth is all this stuff?"

"Most of it's a PET scanner, with associated computers, and a micro-reactor to power it," Bruce answered absently, his attention already focused on one of several laptops. The others exchanged confused glances. Harry leaned closer to Hermione.

"Is he planning on scanning Crookshanks?" he whispered. Hermione looked horrified.

"He's not putting my cat in that thing!" she whispered back. Tim overheard her and laughed.

"It's a Positron Emission Tomography scanner – PET for short. Tomography means to cut into thin slices."

The three original Gryffindors looked at each other again. Then, as one, they turned to Dick.

"**_Nobody's_** slicing up my cat!!!!"Hermione was outraged. Dick chuckled, making calming motions with his hands.

"No, no, guys, it's not a 'pet' scanner. P-E-T are the initials of its name. It's a machine that uses nuclear radiation to take cross-sectional pictures of the brain."

"Can you translate that into some language _ordinary_ wizards can understand?" Hermione asked in a withering tone.

"I can try."

"Please do."

"Okay." Dick took a deep breath as he thought about just how technical to get. Not terribly, he decided. No real need to get into nuclear physics here.

"This machine is designed to produce images of the brain. It takes a series of pictures at very close intervals, starting at the top of the brain and ending at the bottom, layer by layer, sort of like a deck of cards. That's what Tim meant by 'thin slices'. That enables it to build up a three-dimensional model of the brain. What's special about this is that it shows the locations of brain activity at the time the scan is taken. So if the person is concentrating on a specific task, like reading or listening to music-"

"-or working magic!" said Harry, suddenly understanding what they were going to do. Dick shot him a lopsided grin.

"-or working magic," he agreed. "The scanner will show us which areas of the brain are active during that process. Then we go from there."

Ron and Harry nodded, satisfied, but Hermione's eyes lit up with curiosity.

"How exactly does it work?"

Ron and Harry winced, while Dick looked at her doubtfully. "You don't **_really_** want me to get into nuclear physics here...do you?"

"Actually... yes, I think I do."

He sighed. "You know, Bruce or Tim would be a lot better than me at explaining this..." he began, but his voice trailed off as Hermione shook her head emphatically.

"No!" She jerked her head meaningfully. "No, they wouldn't." Dick's glance followed her gesture toward Bruce and Tim, who were completely absorbed in connecting various cables to various pieces of hardware while pushing various buttons, muttering to each other in what sounded like – at least to the Gryffindors – a completely incomprehensible language. Dick chuckled ruefully.

"I see your point." He looked around. "Why don't we sit down," he suggested. "This could take a while." The four of them found seats, well out of Bruce and Tim's way. Dick began his explanation by asking a question.

"Do you know anything about subatomic particles?"

Hermione's answer came more slowly than was usual for her. "I know what electrons, protons, and neutrons are," she said carefully. "I studied those in my Muggle school, before I learned I was a witch and came to Hogwarts."

"So did I," Harry agreed. Ron shook his head.

"Why do I have the feeling I'm not going to understand one word of this?" he said plaintively.

"I can explain it to you later, Ron," Hermione began impatiently, but Dick shook his head.

"That's not fair, Hermione," he chided gently. "We can take a little time and bring Ron up to speed – it won't take that long, and it's not like those two over there are going to be done anytime soon." Hermione sighed. Dick thought for a moment, looked around, then reached out and picked up a chunk of dried mud. He held it out to Ron. "How many pieces are in this chunk of mud?" he asked.

Ron looked confused. "That question doesn't make any sense."

"Okay, how many pieces of mud do you see here?"

"One."

Dick broke it in half. "And now?"

"Two."

"If I kept going, how many pieces could I break this into?"

"Ummm...lots?"

"And what would happen to the size of the pieces?"

"They'd keep getting smaller."

"Good answer." Dick rapidly crumbled the dried mud into particles the side of sand. "Could I keep going? Make even more pieces?"

"Yeah..."

"Could I break this up so finely that we wouldn't even be able to see the pieces?"

"I guess."

"Is there a limit to how small I can make the pieces? Is there a point where it's impossible to split the pieces into smaller ones?"

Ron opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again as he thought. He did this several times before finally venturing an answer.

"I... don't know."

Dick smiled.

"In fact, there is. The smallest particle of matter – the smallest piece that we can break a piece of matter into and still have it retain the properties, or characteristics, of the original matter – is called an atom. It's very, very tiny – so tiny, in fact, that there are about five hundred sextillion of them in a teaspoon of water."

Ron's eyes went wide. "**_HOW_** many?" Hermione and Harry looked similarly shocked.

Dick smiled again, stood up, went over to where Bruce and Tim were working, and came back with a pencil and paper.

"This is what it looks like written down," he said, scrawling a '5' followed by twenty-three zeroes. Ron looked at the number, then looked up at Dick.

"In **_one teaspoon_** of water?" Dick nodded, and Ron shuddered.

"No offense, but... Hermione, is he serious?" She shrugged.

"I don't know – my teacher told us atoms were small, but she never told us just **_how_** small."

Ron took a deep breath. "Okay, guess we'll just have to trust you, Dick. What's next?"

Dick looked amused. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys. Anyway, you ever play with building blocks when you were little?" Mystified by the seemingly abrupt change of subject, Ron and Hermione nodded, but to Dick's surprise, Harry shook his head.

"You never played with building blocks, Harry?"

"Naw. I watched Dudley play with his, but he broke too many of Aunt Petunia's knicknacks by throwing them, so she and Uncle Vernon burned them in the fireplace one night after Dudley was asleep. I heard them through the wall of my cupboard. I must've been about five – I remember because Dudley threw a tantrum when he couldn't find the blocks the next morning, and they pretended they couldn't find them either. It was the first time I remember them actually getting rid of one of Dudley's toys. And of course, I never had any toys of my own." Harry's explanation was calmly matter-of-fact.

"Huh. Well, you know how you can make lots of different things with the same blocks?" This time they all nodded.

"Well, atoms are made up of even tinier subatomic particles, called protons, neutrons, and electrons. Every kind of matter in the universe consists of atoms, and all atoms are made by putting different numbers of these 'building-block' particles together in different combinations. A particular combination results in a particular kind of atom."

"That matches with what I learned at school," Hermione noted.

Ron had a look of fierce concentration on his face. "Okay, I'm following you so far."

"Good, 'cause now we're gonna take a major leap. Harry, Hermione, this'll probably be completely new to you, too," Dick warned. All three sat forward and focused intently on him.

"Do you know what radiation is?" He received three headshakes in response.

"The word 'radiate' means to give off energy. The '_Lumos'_ spell causes your wands to radiate visible light, which is energy that our eyes can detect." Dick saw Harry's brow wrinkle. "Question, Harry?"

"Yeah... what you said... does that mean that there's energy that our eyes **_can't_** detect?"

"Very good! Yes, there is – in fact, most of the energy out there is invisible to the human eye. A fire radiates energy in two forms– visible light, and heat, which we can't see but can feel on our skin. The sun radiates all different forms of energy, including visible light, heat, and what's called ultraviolet light. We can't see or feel UV light, but it's strong enough to damage skin – it causes sunburns. Then there's X-rays. Hermione, your parents are dentists. They probably use X-ray machines, right?" She nodded.

"X-rays are another form of energy. They're so strong they can pass through soft tissue, but bone stops them. That's why we use X-rays to take pictures of bones. OK so far?"

Three slow nods. Dick smiled at them encouragingly.

"We're almost done. Remember what I said about putting electrons, protons, and neutrons together in different combinations to make different atoms? Well, some of those combinations of protons and neutrons are unstable – off-balance. Now atoms, like most things, don't like to be off-balance. So an unstable atom will give off – the technical word is 'emit' - one or more of these subatomic particles to bring itself back into balance. Often, but not always, this process also releases energy, in the form of gamma rays, which are the strongest and most deadly form. This release of subatomic particles and/or energy is called _radioactivity_'."

Hermione looked excited.

"I've heard of that!" She suddenly looked worried. "Don't they make bombs with that stuff?"

Dick nodded.

"It's like anything else – it can be used for good or bad purposes. They make bombs, but they also make medical devices which save lives. That thing over there," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "is one of them."

"Okay, so I'll repeat my earlier question – how exactly does it work?"

Dick chuckled. "Persistent, aren't you? Some of these unstable atoms – which are called radionuclides, by the way – emit particles called '_positrons'_. That machine detects positrons, and can make pictures of where they're coming from. We inject a sample of the radionuclide into the test subject's bloodstream, and then ask him or her to concentrate on a particular task. The more a brain area is involved in that task, the more blood it will use, the more radionuclides will be concentrated there, and –"

"The more positrons the machine will detect!" Hermione finished triumphantly. Dick favored her with his trademark grin.

"Exactly. And once we find out which areas of the brain are involved in working spells, we can start looking for a way to counter them." He stood up and stretched. "Thus endeth our Nuclear Physics 101 course." He wandered over to check on Bruce and Tim's progress.

Ron looked at Hermione and shook his head.

"You had to ask, didn't you, Hermione?"

Hermione looked defensive. "Well, I wanted to know!"

"Hey, guys!" Tim's call interrupted them before the argument could really take off. "C'mere! We're ready!"

They walked over to where Bruce was sitting. Hermione couldn't help looking apprehensively at Dick.

"No cats?" she whispered. He grinned.

"No cats."

"Cats?" Bruce looked questioningly at Dick and Hermione. "What do cats have to do with this?" Dick snickered.

"Never mind. You don't want to know."

"Well, in that case... if you're **_quite_** finished with your discussion of felines, we can get started. Tim, I'd like you to be the first subject, followed by one of you three, if you don't mind."

"Why?" Hermione's question was predictable by now.

"I'd like to get a comparison between a relatively new wizard and an experienced wizard working the same spell," Bruce explained.

"Oh." The students looked at each other. Harry shrugged.

"I guess I'll go after Tim," he said. "What spell do you want us to cast?"

"What do you advise? Obviously it needs to be one you can cast lying down. Ideally, it should be one that requires continual focus, rather than being set and ignored."

Harry thought for a few moments.

"The Shield Charm would probably do the job."

"OK. Let's run it with wands the first time, since that's what you're accustomed to. Tim..." Bruce gestured toward the scanner. Tim obediently pulled out his wand and moved into position, as Bruce prepared the radionuclide injection and Dick set the scanner program.

"Ready?" Bruce asked.

"As I'll ever be," Tim answered.

"Dick?"

"Board's green." Dick's use of the old rocketry expression earned him an exasperated glance from Bruce, which he returned with an air of total innocence.

"On my mark." Bruce injected Tim and waited five seconds. "Mark." Dick activated the scanner, as Tim raised his wand.

"**_Protego!_**"

Over the next several minutes, Tim maintained the charm, while the scanner clicked and hummed. Finally the scan was finished, and Tim joined them at the monitor.

They watched as images of Tim's brain slowly built up on the screen, in colors ranging from red to blue.

"There," Bruce suddenly said, as an area of bright yellow appeared. "In the frontal lobe – right between the prefrontal cortex and the motor association cortex."

"That makes sense," Tim agreed. "The prefrontal cortex is responsible for complex thought, and the motor association cortex handles coordination of complex movement."

The Gryffindors were completely mesmerized by the display on the monitor. Ron glanced at Harry and slowly shook his head.

"And they call what **_we_** do 'magic'," he muttered.

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_


	18. Chap 17: Familiar Curses and Unforgiving...

Disclaimers and other info in Prologue

**Sufficiently Advanced Technology…**

…**_is indistinguishable from magic._– Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 17: ** **Familiar Curses and Unforgiving Science**

Over the next few weeks, a routine of sorts began to develop. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Tim spent most of their evenings instructing the DA, while trying to sandwich their homework into their all-too-few free moments. Bruce was splitting his time between teaching by day and researching by night. Since he also insisted on apparating back home every other night so that Batman could briefly patrol Gotham, he was getting very little sleep. And Dick, at Bruce's request, was spending his evenings with Dumbledore, learning advanced defensive magics.

Meanwhile, the effects of the Muggle Sciences and Self-Defense in a Muggle World classes were beginning to make themselves noticed around Hogwarts. During breaks, students could be seen on the lawns, practicing throwing one another to the ground in various semi-controlled moves. The library was experiencing a run on books and scrolls dealing with alchemy, as well as medieval warfare. Bruce had introduced the students to physics as well as chemistry, and people were rapidly learning to be cautious in the castle corridors. They were checking carefully before stepping around corners, lest they be accidentally hit with a shot from a catapult or other projectile-launching device. After a few windows had fallen casualty to bad aim, propulsion of rocks had been expressly forbidden, and so tomatoes were now the preferred choice of missile. Filch was extremely unhappy about this development. Peeves, on the other hand, was ecstatic. Having learned about gunpowder by eavesdropping on Bruce's classes, the poltergeist was having more fun than he had had in the last several centuries. The odor of brimstone was becoming annoyingly familiar to everyone in the castle, as Peeves was taking unholy delight in setting off explosions at unpredictable locations and intervals. Suits of armor were his favorite targets, as they added quite dramatically to the overall effect of the blast. All in all, as Ron remarked quietly to Harry at one point, Bruce's effect on Hogwarts was probably going to be even more long-lasting than that of Fred and George, Ron's twin brothers.

---------------------------------

Dick stepped off the moving spiral staircase and tapped on Dumbledore's office door.

"Come in, Professor Johnson." Dumbledore was very careful to use undercover names if there was any possibility of someone overhearing.

Opening the door, Dick greeted the professor before moving to Fawkes' perch. It had become his evening routine to spend some time petting the phoenix. Fawkes appeared to enjoy the attention, butting his head against Dick's chest and trilling gently, while Dick softly spoke to him in Romany.

After a few minutes, Dick gave Fawkes a final caress, and came to sit in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"What's on our agenda tonight, Headmaster?" he asked, slouching back in his chair.

"The Unforgiveable Curses."

At Dumbledore's serious tone and somber look, Dick sat bolt upright in his chair, coming to attention like a hawk sighting its prey.

"And those are...?"

"Three of Voldemort's primary weapons." Dick simply raised a questioning eyebrow, and Dumbledore proceeded to explain.

"The Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, and the Killing Curse are the most heinous curses known to wizardkind. One use of any of them on a human is cause for a life prison sentence. Voldemort and his followers use them regularly to control, torture, terrorize and kill wizards and Muggles alike.

"The Imperius Curse puts the subject under the wizard's direct control. While under the spell, the subject will do anything the wizard commands, up to and including committing suicide.

"The Cruciatus Curse subjects the victim to severe torture. The agony is prolonged for as long as the wizard cares to maintain the spell. People have been driven permanently insane by being subjected to this curse for an extended period of time.

"_Avada Kedavra_ – the Killing Curse – is exactly what it sounds like."

Dumbledore fell silent, as Dick digested this information.

"Countermeasures?"

Dumbledore shook his head.

"The Imperius Curse may be fought by sheer will. For _Avada Kedavra_ and the Cruciatus Curse, there is none, save ensuring that an opponent is never in a position to cast it on you."

"Show me."

Dumbledore picked a jar up from the floor and set it on the desk. There were several large beetles crawling around inside. He took one beetle out of the jar and set it on the desk, then picked up his wand and pointed it at the insect.

"**_Imperio!_**" The beetle began to roll over and over, continuing until Dumbledore lifted the wand. He moved the beetle back to the jar and took out another one.

"**_Crucio!_**" The insect began to writhe hideously. It rolled over on its back, its antennae and legs thrashing wildly. Dumbledore ended the spell quickly, not liking to needlessly torture anything. He picked up the beetle and replaced it in the jar before looking at Dick.

Dick's face was hard, his blue eyes like glacial ice.

"Continue."

Dumbledore nodded, retrieving another beetle from the jar.

"**_Avada Kedavra!_**" Green light flashed, and the sound of a sudden, high wind passed through the room. The beetle rolled over, obviously dead. Fawkes shrieked.

Dick spun in his chair, the look of cold anger on his face instantly changing to worry. Fawkes was bating on his perch, wings extended in agitation. Even faster than Dumbledore, Dick was out of his seat and at the phoenix's side, trying to soothe the frantic bird.

"Fawkes, shh, _miro prala dester'edre_, shh, little brother, I'm sorry, _du'dera_, we didn't mean to upset you, _kathal, te'sorthene, kathal_, gently, heart-friend, shhh..."

Dick gently stroked his hands over the flaring wings. Under his caressing hands and quiet voice, the distressed phoenix slowly settled back onto his perch. Dumbledore watched calmly as Dick's ministrations continued until Fawkes had relaxed enough that his feathers fluffed out. When he uttered a short trill, Dick scratched him gently under his neck feathers, before turning to Dumbledore with a shamefaced expression.

"I'm sorry, Professor."

Dumbledore looked astounded.

"What on Earth could you possibly be apologizing for, Richard? I was the cause of Fawkes' distress, not you."

"He's yours. I had no right to barge in... I should have let you see to him."

Dumbledore's gentle twinkle reappeared in his eyes.

"Richard, I think you misunderstand the nature of our relationship. Fawkes and I are very close and dear friends, but we are not each other's possessions. He stays with me because he chooses to, not because I own him. But he has also accepted you as a friend. Friends comfort and help each other in need, without question. Should I be upset that you instinctively went to help a being that is friend to us both?"

Dick's face relaxed as Dumbledore's words sunk in, and one side of his mouth turned up.

"Well, when you put it like that..."

Dumbledore nodded. "Exactly so, dear boy. Exactly so." He turned and walked back to his desk, his face sober again.

"I must admit, I have never seen Fawkes quite so distressed before... then again, I must admit I have never performed the _Avada Kedavra_ Curse with him in the same room before," Dumbledore mused aloud as he set the jar of beetles on the floor. "He is quite unfazed when defending me from a Dark Wizard performing the same curse, so it must be that he dislikes it when I cast it. I must be sure to remember not to do that again."

Dick nodded in agreement as he reclaimed his own seat.

"Professor, how do the spells work? What do they feel like – well, the first two, anyway? I'm obviously not in any hurry to experience the third curse!"

Dumbledore was momentarily startled out of his legendary calm. He shook his head firmly.

"No, Richard. This lesson tonight was as a demonstration only, to make you aware of the spells. I do not plan on teaching you to use them, and I certainly have no intentions of subjecting you to them!"

"Professor, you **_must_**!" Dick was on his feet, leaning over Dumbledore's desk.

"Mr. Grayson, there is no reason–"

"There is **_every_** reason!" Dick was as intense as the Headmaster had ever seen him. "If there's a chance Bruce, Tim and I are going to encounter these curses, we have to know how to fight them – and we can't do that if we don't know what it feels like when one's cast on us! If I know how to cast them myself, then I can teach Bruce and Tim, and we can work on countermeasures for the Cruciatus and Killing Curses." Dick took a deep breath and raked a hand through his hair. "Headmaster, we need this information in order to do our jobs!"

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his eyes filled with sadness.

"As much as I do not like it, I cannot fault your logic, Richard. Very well. Sit down."

Dick dropped into his chair again, while Dumbledore brought the jar of beetles back up to the desktop.

"To cast the Imperius Curse, you must have a very clear image in your mind of exactly what you want your subject to do. Focus your mind's eye on the image, concentrate all of your will upon the subject, and proclaim '_Imperio!_'' " He placed a beetle on the desk in front of Dick.

Dick's brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed in concentration. He held his right hand out, pointing his index finger at the insect.

"**_Imperio!_**"

The beetle proceeded to do somersaults and back flips, until Dick closed his fist, and the little creature flopped down onto the desktop. Dick pursed his lips thoughtfully and looked at Dumbledore.

"It will not be this easy on a human," Dumbledore warned. "The more intelligence a subject has, the more it will fight being controlled."

Dick flashed him a humorless grin.

"Other than training Bruce and Tim, I have no intention of ever using this on a human, Professor," he pointed out.

Dumbledore surveyed him calmly. "If I thought you did, I would not now be teaching you."

Dick mouth twitched. "Touché."

"Now, in some ways, the Cruciatus Curse is even easier. Concentrate your will upon the victim, imagine the worst agony possible ripping through his body, and say '_Crucio!' "_

Dick pointed his finger at the beetle. He looked a little uncomfortable, but firmly said, "_**Crucio!**"_ To his surprise, the beetle twitched a little, but nothing else happened. He raised a puzzled eyebrow at Dumbledore, who sighed.

"This is the hard part of this curse, for those who do not pursue the Dark Arts. To make this curse truly effective, you have to **_want_** to cause pain. You have to take joy in pain, delight in it, savor another's agony. I am not sure you have that capacity within you, Richard."

Dick's face hardened, and for a moment his eyes were far away.

"Professor, I'm sorry to disillusion you, but with the things I have seen in my life, you would not **_believe_** how much joy I would take if I could cause pain to certain people."

Understanding eased into Dumbledore's face, as Dick stretched out his hand again.

"_**Crucio!**"_

The beetle twisted and squirmed, fiercely flinging itself around the desktop. Dick suddenly yanked his hand back, now looking nauseated, and buried his face in his hands. Dumbledore replaced the now-still beetle in the jar, before placing a sympathetic hand on Dick's shoulder.

"War often forces us to face parts of ourselves we would rather never see," he said softly. "Are you truly sure you want to experience these spells upon yourself?"

Dick sighed and lifted his head, his expression resolute.

"Let's finish this, Professor."

Dumbledore picked up his own wand and pointed it at Dick, who swallowed a little nervously.

"We'll start with the Imperius Curse. Remember, it can be fought by will alone. **_Imperio!_**"

Dick suddenly felt as if he were floating in a sensory deprivation tank. He was blissfully relaxed, unworried, and unaware of his surroundings, until a voice insinuated itself into his consciousness, instructing him to stand up and walk around the room. Obeying the voice seemed like the most natural thing in the world, but something inside him rebelled at being controlled by another, and rejected the idea. The command became stronger, but his inner self stubbornly refused to budge.

"Excellent!" Dick blinked, suddenly realizing he was still sitting in his chair in Dumbledore's office, with the Headmaster beaming down at him.

"I have never seen someone do a better job against the Imperius Curse!" Dumbledore was saying enthusiastically. Dick chuckled.

"Wait'll you see Bruce do it," he said ruefully. Then he squared his shoulders. "Go on."

"Richard, are you **_positive_** you want to do this?" Dick looked up and his eyes locked with Dumbledore's.

"It's necessary, Professor. I've worked with pain before. You said there is no counter for this one?"

"No, and you have never experienced pain like this before. I shall hold it on you only for a moment–"

"No."

Dumbledore's eyebrows went up.

"I need you to hold it long enough for me to see if I can fight it. Stand a ways away, and give me... one minute."

Dumbledore looked dubious. "Richard..."

"Sixty seconds, Headmaster."

The Headmaster sighed in resignation. "Sixty seconds. I recommend you seat yourself on the floor before we begin." Dick rose from his chair and dropped gracefully into a cross-legged position. Dumbledore moved across the room and raised his wand.

"**_Crucio!_**"

Dick felt his body explode in flames. There was no anticipation, no gradual buildup – just instantaneous agony traveling along every nerve. For the first few seconds, it took everything he had to keep from curling into a ball and screaming, while his awareness of anything outside the pain receded.

However, Dick had fought while injured many times before. Pain, if not an old friend to him, was certainly an old acquaintance, whose presence could be minimized if not ignored. He began by controlling his breathing, using that to shunt the pain into one corner of his consciousness. Following up by forcing himself to pay attention to his surroundings, he drove himself to his feet, took up a fighting stance, and stalked toward Dumbledore.

Suddenly the pain vanished. Dick inhaled deeply as full awareness of Dumbledore's office returned. He was poised for combat, approximately three feet in front of Dumbledore, on the other side of the room from where he had been sitting. As Dick straightened up and relaxed, he found the Headmaster staring at him in astonishment.

"Richard... that was phenomenal," he said slowly. "I said before that I had never seen anyone do a better job against the Imperius Curse... I have never seen anyone able to withstand the Cruciatus Curse **_at all_**. You are the first one I know of to even make any voluntary motions while under it, let alone come after your attacker!"

Dick laughed mirthlessly.

"Professor, if I couldn't fight when in pain, I'd be dead long since," he said. "The Cruciatus Curse is bad, yes, but I've had injuries with similar pain. I think the main difference is that the Cruciatus Curse inflicts the pain over the entire body. But Batman's mind-control techniques for pain seem to work just as well on it as on more physical injuries – which is good news for us!"

Dumbledore's lips twitched. "And it will certainly be a shock to any Death-Eaters you encounter!" The answering grin that momentarily flashed over Dick's features was positively vicious.

"OK, last but not least," he said. "Obviously you aren't going to test this one on me – and obviously you can't teach me this one in here. So, where to?"

"Since we cannot use my office, the logical place to go would be your office. Which is why we shall not go there."

Dick raised an eyebrow.

"Professors' offices, other than the Headmaster's, are notorious for their lack of privacy. They are the first place a student or another professor will come looking. Your tower rooms will provide much more security." Dumbledore picked up the jar of beetles and headed for the spiral stair. Dick followed, pausing long enough to bid a quiet goodnight to Fawkes.

----------------------------------

As they climbed the stairs, they could see a line of light shining from under the door to the tower quarters.

"Huh. Bruce is back early. Must've been a quiet night in Gotham," Dick commented.

"How often does he go back?"

"Every other night or so. I thought he was going to be gone longer tonight, but..." Dick shrugged, reached out, and opened the door, motioning Dumbledore inside with a flourish of his hand.

Bruce looked up from his reading as the door opened, quirking a quizzical eyebrow upon seeing the Headmaster enter, followed by Dick. It rose higher as he saw what Dumbledore carried.

"Studying entomology tonight, gentlemen?"

"Curses!" Dick replied, keeping a straight face.

Bruce's other eyebrow rose to join the first. "Language, Dick," he admonished. "What's the problem?"

"That's the problem." Dick was still controlling his expression, although he could no longer mask the slight twinkle in his eyes. Bruce looked even more baffled.

"I beg your pardon?"

Dumbledore was looking from one to the other in amusement. "Richard..." he chided gently.

Dick could no longer hold back a chuckle.

"Oh, all right," he surrendered. "We've been studying curses tonight, Bruce."

"I see. And the beetles are for..."

All traces of mirth were suddenly wiped from Dick's face.

"Because we couldn't practice the Killing Curse in the professor's office without upsetting Fawkes."

Bruce's chair legs scraped against the floor as he abruptly came to his feet, his papers falling unnoticed to the table. His eyes narrowed as his full attention focused on them.

"You are **_practicing_** the Killing Curse?" His voice had dropped into the register of the Bat. Dick gazed back at him, unintimidated.

"Not yet. We will be in about five minutes, though."

Bruce's voice dropped even lower. "Explain," he growled. Dick shot a glance at Dumbledore.

"I was going to explain later, rather than keeping the Headmaster waiting right now, but..."

Dumbledore nodded.

"I think you had better, Richard. I have nothing more pressing to do, and Bruce might as well understand first, so what he sees later will make sense."

Nodding, Dick gestured toward the chairs in front of the fire. "We might as well be comfortable – this'll take a few minutes." Bruce, predictably, remained standing. Dick looked up at him, sighed, and began. He explained about Dumbledore's demonstration of the three Unforgivable Curses, and how Fawkes had reacted to the _Avada Kedavra_ Curse. He defended his own insistence upon experiencing the first two and learning how to cast all three. Bruce's implacable expression began to relax slightly as he grasped Dick's logic. It shifted to a look of complete absorption as Dick described what it felt like to cast and to experience the Imperius and Cruciatus Curses.

"It was really weird, Bruce," he said at last. "While I was casting the Imperius Curse, I had the feeling that I was the most powerful person in the world – that I could make anyone do anything I wanted, just for the hell of it. And casting the Cruciatus Curse–" he shuddered, "was even worse. There was this... pleasure... in tormenting another living being in cold blood. It was obscene!" He shuddered again. "It made me sick to my stomach," he confessed.

"I should hope so!" Bruce growled disapprovingly under his breath. Dick glared at him, but before he could say anything, Dumbledore began to speak, so Dick held his peace.

"It is as I said... to effectively cast the Cruciatus Curse, one must find that dark place inside oneself that relishes causing pain to another – and no ethical person wants to believe that they are capable of that. Richard showed extraordinary courage in being willing to acknowledge that part of his being, in order to further our cause against Voldemort."

Bruce started to speak, but the Headmaster was not finished.

"There is something else you should know, Bruce. After watching Richard at work tonight, I have hope, for the first time, that we might actually have a chance of winning this war."

Dick stared, totally shocked at this statement. Even Bruce's impassive mask dropped, his eyes gazing at Dumbledore in quiet surprise.

"The only reason Voldemort did not triumph during the last conflict was because of his encounter with Harry Potter. Up to that time, he and his Death-Eaters had been steadily gaining power, and though we were fighting valiantly, I sincerely believe they would have succeeded in achieving their goal of complete domination of the wizarding world. We won individual battles here and there, but their willingness to freely use the Unforgiveable Curses made them fearsome antagonists. For the last year, since Voldemort and his followers openly returned, I have entertained similar fears. Until tonight.

"I was impressed, but not terribly surprised, when Richard was able to withstand the Imperius Curse. Other strong-willed wizards have done the same, so although what he did was unusual, it was by no means unheard-of. However, as I told him, both in my direct experience, and in all my researches, **_no one _**has ever been able to fight the Cruciatus Curse. There is no counter to it. This is what makes it such a potent weapon to Dark wizards, and so frightening to non-Dark wizards. The pain is so intense, and so all-encompassing, that the victim loses all control over his body. He – or she – is aware of nothing but the pain, until the spell is lifted. Neville Longbottom's parents were both driven permanently insane with nothing more than this spell."

Dumbledore paused to take a deep breath.

"No one has ever been able to fight it – until tonight. Richard insisted on my casting the spell on him for sixty seconds, and I reluctantly complied with his request. For probably the first ten seconds, he behaved exactly like anyone else I have seen under this curse, writhing in agony–"

Bruce's jaw tightened minutely. Dick shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but subsided when both the other men shot quelling glances his way.

"–but then he became quite still, and his breathing evened out. He stood up, shifted his body into what I recognized as a fighting position, and moved across the room to attack me! Having no wish to be attacked, I released the spell when he was about a yard away from me. Even now, I can hardly believe what my eyes saw." He paused.

Bruce took the opportunity to throw out a question.

"Is it possible, Professor, that when he became calm, in your surprise you reduced the power of the spell, allowing him to fight against a weaker version?"

Dumbledore looked at Dick.

"I do not believe so, but what is your opinion, Richard? You were the one feeling the effects."

Dick thought back, then shook his head.

"Oh, no, Professor. Believe me, you didn't weaken your spell one bit." He turned to Bruce. "The pain was there all right, Bruce. But your mind-control techniques work just fine on it."

"And that is what gives me hope." Dumbledore recaptured their attention. "If there is, as Richard has so ably demonstrated, a way to fight the Cruciatus Curse, then there may also exist a counter to _Avada Kedavra_. If that can be discovered, then we have a fighting chance against Voldemort and his minions."

"And **_that_** brings us back to what we came here to do tonight," interjected Dick. "I need to learn to cast the Killing Curse, so that we can test it under the scanner."

Bruce slowly walked to the fireplace, pausing behind Dick's chair and gazing into the flames as he processed everything he had heard.

"Well, let's get to work, then." His large hands squeezed the younger man's shoulders firmly, before he turned back toward the table. Recognizing the unspoken _'Well done'_, Dick grinned as he rose to his feet to follow Bruce.

Seating himself at the table, Dumbledore placed a beetle on the tabletop and resumed his teaching mode.

"Unlike the Cruciatus Curse, the Killing Curse does not require that you wish your victim to suffer. It simply requires that you wish him dead. Concentrate all your attention on your victim and your intention that he die, and say, _'Avada Kedavra.' _"

Following the instructions, Dick pointed at the beetle, his entire awareness focused on the insect.

"**_Avada Kedavra!_**"

There was an instant of green light and rushing wind. When it cleared, the beetle was dead. Dumbledore placed another beetle on the table, and Dick cast the spell again. And again.

Three dead beetles later, Dick sat back in his chair and blinked slowly.

"Interesting," he commented. "Of the three curses, that's the easiest one to perform – in a technical sense, anyway." He absently pushed a hand back through his hair, before adding, "And you know something – that's what makes it really frightening."

Bruce's face was grim. "Because it's so easy – it's like using a gun." Dick nodded.

"Yeah. There's no up-close-and-personal involvement. You don't even have to think of your victim as a creature with a mind or feelings – just as something you want dead." A shiver rippled over him, and he looked at Bruce. "We gotta make sure the Joker never learns this one."

Not bothering to acknowledge Dick's last remark, Bruce turned to Dumbledore. "My turn."

Dumbledore glanced sharply at him, but Bruce's expression caused his protest to die on his lips. Heaving a sigh, he placed another beetle in front of Bruce. Bruce pointed his finger and concentrated.

"**_Avada Kedavra!_**" Again the green flash, the sense of wind, and a dead insect. Bruce's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"As you say, Dick – interesting." He pulled another beetle out of the jar and continued to practice.

After several more beetles had died, Dick spoke up. "There's something else interesting."

Bruce looked up, his attention caught by Dick's tone of voice. "Yes?"

"Whenever you cast that spell, there's a space of about one second between pointing your finger and actually speaking the incantation, when all your attention is focused on building your concentration, and you're oblivious to your surroundings." Dick turned to Dumbledore. "Professor, what would happen to the spell if the wizard were physically attacked during that moment?"

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Before the spell is actually cast, nothing. If the wizard were... shall we say... interrupted... while speaking – I honestly do not know."

Bruce's face looked bleak. "We may end up finding out before this is all over."

Dumbledore heaved a sigh and slowly climbed to his feet. "Well, I don't believe you need me for anything more tonight, so I shall leave you gentlemen to your evening." A small smile played over his lips. "Do try not to bring down the castle about our ears."

Both heads shot up. One corner of Bruce's mouth quirked up, while Dick's face relaxed into a grin.

"We'll do our best, Professor. Good night, and thank you... for everything."

As the door closed softly behind the Headmaster, Dick turned back to Bruce.

"Do you want me to teach you the other two curses tonight?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Dick reached for yet another beetle. "To cast the Imperius Curse, you..."

The light continued to glow underneath their door long past midnight.

-----------------------------------

It was a good thing that the weather held bright and sunny the following week, as Bruce was holding the Muggle Sciences classes outdoors for final calibration and testing of the various projectile-launchers. Invariably, any teacher or student with free time gravitated to the Quidditch pitch to watch.

It was indeed a fascinating display. The first-year students had been forbidden to use anything but simple mechanical power, and their launchers looked much like catapults and trebuchets, the siege engines of centuries past. Most had done a good job of calibration, and their payloads thudded into the target zone over and over again.

The second- and third-years had learned to compress and store gases, and were allowed to use their compressed air to power their devices. Since they had more power available, their target zone was farther away. Many of them had created their launchers out of plumbing pipes, and loud bangs or high-pitched whistling sounds accompanied their projectiles as they flew out of the ends of the pipes into the air.

The fourth- and fifth-years had learned to generate specific gases, and were being permitted to use them, as Ginny Weasley explained to her brother and his friends on Wednesday night.

"I generate hydrogen gas in the firing chamber by reacting a specific amount of hydrochloric acid with iron filings. Then I pull this lever, which scrapes a piece of flint across a rough piece of iron, creating a spark. That ignites the hydrogen gas, and Boom!"

Sure enough, on Thursday afternoon, Ginny's launcher emitted a most satisfying **_BOOM!_** and a gout of flame, sending her payload flying downrange to land right in the center of its target zone. Some of her classmates were not so fortunate. Either their gases fizzled instead of igniting, or ignited more powerfully than expected, sending the projectile sailing far past the target zone and receiving a scowl from Bruce.

By Thursday evening, the excitement around the school had risen to Quidditch-Cup-level fervor. Everyone knew that the sixth- and seventh-year Muggle Sciences students were building a different kind of launching device – something called a 'rocket' – which was supposed to be even more spectacular then anything seen so far, and everyone wanted to go watch. Even Professor Dumbledore got caught up in the enthusiasm, announcing at dinner that every teacher would hold his or her Friday morning class in the stands of the Quidditch stadium.

Professor Snape was **_not_** pleased.

"And exactly **_how_** am I supposed to hold a Potions class in the stands of the Quidditch stadium?" he snarled under his breath to Professor Flitwick. The reply was not what he expected.

"Oh, give over, Severus. Missing one lesson isn't going to hurt your students, and it certainly isn't going to kill you. I'm actually looking forward to seeing these things."

Snape glared at Flitwick for a moment. It appeared that he was in the minority, however, as all the other teachers were eagerly discussing tomorrow's event. He grumbled to himself as he swept away from the teachers' table.

Late that evening in the Gryffindor common room, it was Ginny's turn to ask her brother questions.

"How does this thing work, Ron? I don't see anywhere for the projectile to come out of, or anything to throw it. What does it do?"

"Well, it doesn't really **_throw_** a projectile, Ginny. It **_is_** the projectile."

"So what propels it?"

"It propels itself."

Ginny glared at him. "Ron..."

He laughed at her. "Okay, okay. Look, you remember how you told us you generated hydrogen gas? Well, our class took that a few steps further. We developed a pretty complicated mixture of chemicals. It's in kind of a... jelly... form, and burns really well. So it gets carried in this section in the body of the rocket. It gets lit with a fuse – that's a burning piece of string – and when it burns, the gases come out this hole in the bottom and push the whole thing into the air."

"What are those things on the sides?"

"Fins – like the fins on a fish. It keeps it flying straight."

"Hm. So how far away is the target?"

"There isn't one. The contest is to see which rocket flies highest."

She looked around at the others.

"It's not really fair, you know."

Ron looked surprised. "What isn't?"

"That we each had to make our own, but you guys got to work in teams."

Ron shrugged. "Don't look at me, Ginny, it wasn't my idea. I dunno why Thomson set it up this way."

"Yeah. Well, you can sit up all night and admire your handiwork, but I'm going to bed." She waved goodnight as she went up the stairs to her dormitory, then poked her head back out for a minute. "Just watch out for Malfoy and Company tomorrow!"

Ron gazed after her with an alarmed expression. "She's got a point, you know."

Tim laughed.

"Don't worry – it's all taken care of." His teammates stared at him.

"It is?"

"How do you know?"

"What's he gonna–"

"Whoa, whoa!" Tim held up his hands, laughing. "I'm not supposed to say. Just believe me – it's gonna be OK."

Ron started to grin.

"This could be really good tomorrow," he chortled.

------------------------------------

After breakfast Friday morning, the sixth- and seventh-years set up the field, while the rest of the school filled the stands. When the preparations were finished, the students retreated to the control zone, leaving the assorted rockets standing evenly spaced along the firing line. The rockets' appearances varied widely. Some were wide and bulbous with round noses; others slim and long and pointed. Some had half a dozen fins; some had none. Some had multiple pipes coming out of the bottom; some had no obvious plumbing at all.

While "Professor Thomson" was giving the students last-minute reminders, Malfoy nudged Crabbe and Goyle.

"It's done," he said, looking around cautiously. They glanced at him furtively. He smirked.

"Went smooth as glass. Nobody even noticed. Just wait'll their rocket takes off!" All three boys began to snicker under their breaths.

"**_READY ON THE FIRING LINE!"_** Bruce's voice rumbled across the field. "**Countdown!**"

A girl from the first team began counting backwards, as one of her teammates prepared to strike a spark to light the fuse.

"5... 4... 3... 2... 1... Ignite!"

The boy struck the flint and steel, and the flame ran swiftly along the fuse and up into the rocket. An instant later, the rocket lifted off into the sky, trailing a plume of smoke and fire. A few seconds later the flame cut out as the fuel ran out, but the rocket continued to coast upward for several seconds, before falling back to earth.

The audience cheered and applauded wildly. Dumbledore waved his wand, and the rocket's peak altitude was displayed in gleaming red numbers for all to see.

"**Countdown!**"

The second team began their countdown to launch. Their rocket didn't fare as well as the first one, tumbling rather badly in midair.

"**Countdown!**"

Team after team sent off their rockets, with varying levels of success. Some tumbled off course, while some soared so high they could barely be seen. A few exploded without ever leaving the ground.

Finally it was Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Tim's turn to step forward.

"**Countdown!**"

Harry knelt down with flint and steel, while Tim raised his voice.

"5... 4..."

A few steps farther along the line, Malfoy elbowed Goyle.

"Here it comes!" he whispered, sniggering.

"3... 2..."

"This'll be great!" By now, Malfoy was barely able to restrain a guffaw.

"1... Ignite!"

The spark flew and the rocket took off, carving a graceful path through the air. When it fell back to the ground and its altitude was displayed, everyone cheered. The Gryffindors had tied the height set by one of the Ravenclaw teams.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, meanwhile, were staring at each other open-mouthed.

"Draco... What happened? I thought you said it was gonna–"

"Shut up, Crabbe!" Malfoy hissed in fury.

"But... you said..."

"I **_said_** shut up! I don't know what happened! It was **_supposed_** to work."

"Hey, guys," Goyle broke in. "It's our turn next."

Breaking off the argument instantly, the Slytherins did their best to appear calm and innocent. Goyle got ready to count down while Malfoy prepared to light the fuse.

Hermione and her three teammates were watching them like hawks. Hermione was shaking her head.

"I don't understand – apparently they didn't do anything to our rocket. I was **_sure_** they'd try something..." she whispered, bewildered.

Tim grinned. "Wait for it..." he advised them with quiet glee.

"**Countdown!**"

Goyle began to yell at the top of his lungs. "5... 4... 3... 2... 1... Ignite!" Malfoy struck the spark.

The flame reached the rocket, the fuel ignited, and the rocket lifted off the launching pad. But instead of ascending into the sky, it wheeled around and took off with a roar, flying horizontally across the ground, straight for the control zone. Screaming, the students scattered, some running for cover while others flung themselves flat to the ground. Even Bruce had to duck out of the way of the apparently-runaway rocket.

Moments later, the shrieking subsided, as it became clear the rocket was not out of control at all, but in fact had a very clear objective. Draco Malfoy was sprinting wildly about the field, the rocket in hot pursuit. Incredulous, horrified laughter began to arise from the stands, as the rocket continued to chase a panicked Malfoy, no matter which direction he turned, until it finally ran out of fuel and dropped to the ground at his heels. Malfoy promptly collapsed. A moment later, he looked up to see a rather-annoyed-looking Professor Thomson standing over him.

Although Bruce spoke quietly, his voice was clearly audible to everyone in the stadium.

"I see you managed to run afoul of the anti-cheating charms, Mr. Malfoy. I placed two safeguards on this project. The Anti-Enhancement Charm ensured that no one tried to ... let us say ... augment ... their own device. And the Anti-Sabotage Charm caused any spell someone tried to put on someone else's machine to rebound on their own. From the look of things, you tried to interefere with someone else's rocket. I congratulate you – you cast an excellent Chase-Me Charm."

The entire school broke up in hysterics as Bruce walked away to call the competition back to order.

----------------------------

Shortly after dinner that evening, Dick entered the sitting room he shared with Bruce. He dropped onto the couch and glanced up at his mentor, who was gazing out the window.

"Nice job today, Bruce. Overall, the kids did pretty well with their rockets." He chuckled. "Draco Malfoy really seems to keep putting his foot in it, doesn't he?"

The corner of Bruce's mouth quirked.

"It does appear that he's not used to taking the consequences of his actions."

"Did your spell tell you whose rocket he actually targeted?"

Bruce shot him a glare. "What do you think?"

Dick held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Okay, okay, I know, stupid question. I assume the target was Tim and company?"

Bruce nodded. "Although I think it was probably more a case of _Harry_ and company."

Before Dick could reply, there was a knock on the door. He looked at Bruce. "We expecting company?"

Bruce nodded as he went to open the door. "Good evening, Headmaster."

Dick came to his feet as Dumbledore entered the room. "Good evening, Professor!"

"Good evening, gentlemen." Dumbledore smiled as he came to sit by the fireplace. Dick came over and picked up a log, gracefully sweeping his robes clear before crouching down to build up the fire. The Headmaster settled into his chair, looking up with twinkling eyes.

"Bruce, the entire school owes you a debt of gratitude."

Bruce looked puzzled. "Excuse me?"

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes grew even merrier.

"Both for the wonderful exhibition of... I believe you call it _rocket science_–"

Dick choked. Both Bruce and Dumbledore ignored him.

"–and for the brilliant demonstration of the rewards of cheating!"

Bruce inclined his head, with a slight smile. "My pleasure, Professor."

Dick stood up and dusted off his hands, just as another knock, this one coded, sounded on the door, quickly followed by four Gryffindors tumbling into the room.

"Hey, guys!"

"What's up?"

"Is everything all right?"

"Do you need–"

The babble suddenly stopped when they saw Dumbledore sitting by the fire. Then Hermione politely said, "Good evening, Headmaster."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at the sudden silence, but he simply said, "Good evening, young ones. Your rocket did a magnificent job today."

They glanced at each other, before Harry took the initiative. "Thank you, Professor." There was another silence. Bruce finally took pity on the fidgeting teenagers and motioned them to seats, before taking over the conversation.

"I called this meeting because it's time to bring each other up to date on the status of the investigation," he said. "That would include the DA training, the researches into the basis of magic and possible counters, and the efforts to locate Voldemort."

Ron started to flinch at the name, but stopped when Bruce glowered at him before continuing.

"Tim, why don't you start? Harry, Hermione, Ron, feel free to speak up at any time."

Tim described how he had been training the students in performing magic without wands. Having been trained by Batman in how to give a report, he was clear and concise, describing the training process, the problems involved, and the level of skill achieved by the different students. Harry, Ron and Hermione each contributed to the discussion at various times. Bruce was nodding when they finished.

"That gives us a good picture of the students' current level of defensive magical ability," he said. "It sounds like they could give a pretty good account of themselves if they had to. Good job, all of you."

Dick and Tim shot glances at each other, as their eyebrows rose into their hairlines. Praise from Bruce?

"Boy, Bruce, teaching must be mellowing you out!"

Bruce shot one of his patented Bat-glares at Tim, but it was spoiled by the gleam in his eyes. "Careful, or I'll take it back," he growled.

Dick and Tim glanced at each other again, and promptly dissolved into giggles, while Harry, Hermione and Ron eyed them rather nervously. Dumbledore simply smiled.

"Brothers," he observed calmly.

Bruce's lips twitched while he waited for Tim and Dick to calm down. "If you two think you can **_control yourselves_** now..."

His sardonic comment almost set them off again, but with a couple of deep breaths, they managed to hold themselves in check. The laughter vanished completely when Bruce asked Professor Dumbledore how the search for Voldemort and the Death-Eaters was progressing.

Dumbledore sighed.

"We are making very little headway, I fear. I believe we may soon have to bring some of the Order members here to meet you and see this apparatus of yours, and discover if there is a way to meld its abilities with their powers."

Bruce frowned.

"I see. I don't really like it. Every additional person who knows the secret adds to the danger of premature discovery. Let's hold that in reserve until we have no other recourse."

Dumbledore nodded.

"That brings us to the basis of magic. One of the things we have discovered is–" Bruce broke off in surprise as a flash of flame appeared above the table, with a phoenix in the center of the flame.

"Fawkes!" Dumbledore, Harry and Dick all spoke in unison. The phoenix did not appear to be in any distress. He flew around the room a couple of times, before setting down on the arm of Dumbledore's chair and trilling at him. Dumbledore stroked his neck.

"Fawkes, what is it? What are you trying to tell–" This time it was Dumbledore's turn to break off in surprise. Everyone's eyes widened as another burst of fire erupted above the table, with another phoenix in it.

The new phoenix was slightly larger than Fawkes, who was himself swan-sized. Her magnificent plumage glowed with all the rich hues of flame, shading from glittering gold on the long flowing tail, through scarlet, crimson and ruby, with the barest hint of purple just at the outer wingtips. Her long sharp beak and talons were gleaming gold.

While everyone stared at her, mesmerized, she took flight, circling the room several times just below the rafters, warbling as she soared. Her song was captivating, bringing everyone a sense of strength and courage, while holding them enthralled.

A motion in the corner of his eye caught Bruce's attention, snapping him out of his fascination. He spun to see Dick on his feet, gazing at the phoenix, right arm outstretched to the bird, softly calling to her in Romany, his entire heart in his voice.

"_Mishto hom me dikava tute, te'sorthene...for'shava. Kathal, jel'enedra, kathal._.." I am glad to see you, heart-friend...this is very, very good. Go gently, little sister, go gently...

Seeing his son so completely beguiled by this creature, Bruce felt a cold touch of fear. Instinctively he reached out to grab Dick, to shake him loose from this enchantment, but found himself stopped by a hand on his wrist. About to angrily wrench his arm free, he froze at Dumbledore's soft voice in his ear.

"Bruce, it will be all right. She will not hurt him. She **_cannot_** hurt him. **_Look_** at them!"

As Bruce watched, the phoenix sailed down to land on Dick's outstretched arm. Slowly, so as not to startle her, he brought his arm down to his chest. She stretched out her wings and wrapped them around his body, and tucked her head under his chin. Her song changed, the trill becoming softer, more private. Dick's voice also became quieter, murmuring into her crest feathers as his free hand caressed her body. By now, Bruce was not surprised to see tears streaming freely down his son's face. Dick's voice was breaking, and Bruce could now only pick out a word here and there.

"_Ves'tacha... she'enedra... corthu... sutho..._" Beloved... my chosen-sister... we are one being, joined... forever...

The voice and the trill trailed off together, and the two stood communing in absolute silence. Finally the phoenix folded her wings to her sides, and Dick seemed to suddenly remember that they were not alone in the room. He looked around at the huge smiles on everyone's faces, and suddenly found himself completely at a loss for words.

Dumbledore helped him out.

"What is her name, Richard?"

Dick smiled lovingly down at the bird.

"This is Gypsy!"

As if that were a signal, a large bat suddenly flapped into the room. Bruce held up his arm, and Shadow came in to land, upside down as usual, although she had her head turned up.

Tim grinned.

"I think someone wants to meet someone!"

Bruce and Dick exchanged glances, then Bruce slowly walked over to Dick and raised his arm until the two animals were nose-to-nose with each other. For a moment, neither moved; then Shadow reached out and quickly ran her tongue over Gypsy's beak. For her part, the phoenix simply gave a very quiet trill, and stroked the side of her beak along Shadow's neck.

That was the end of the interaction. Gypsy turned back to rest her head against Dick's shoulder, and Shadow let her head fall back upside down. Bruce moved back, and Shadow promptly took off, flapping back to her perch in Bruce's room.

The four students were trying to be quiet as they giggled madly. Hermione had both hands clapped over her mouth.

"Was that their version of a handshake?" Tim managed to gasp out. Dick reached out his free hand and smacked Tim across the back of the head.

"That's enough out of you, squirt! We'll see what happens when she meets Midnight!"

Ron suddenly choked. Everyone looked at him.

"Forget Midnight. What's going to happen when she meets Crookshanks? Who's going to try to eat who?"

Bruce reacted before Dick or Hermione could. "Don't even **_think_** about it," he rumbled.

That only made them giggle harder. Dumbledore sighed.

"I see it is time to put the youngsters to bed," he said. "We will get no more work out of them this evening."

"I think you're right – not from any of them," Bruce agreed quietly, including Dick in his glance. Dumbledore rose to his feet.

"Come, come!" he said, gathering up the four Gryffindors. "Off with you, now!" Harry, Ron and Hermione obediently filed out of the room, stopping only to offer Dick handshakes of quiet congratulation.

Tim stopped for a minute, clasping his surrogate brother's shoulder tightly. Dick put his free arm around Tim's shoulders and squeezed hard, moving Gypsy away from his body, so that Tim could wrap both arms tightly around him.

"Congratulations, bro," the younger boy whispered. Dick hugged his shoulders tighter.

"Thanks, Timbo." He reached up and ruffled his hair. Tim broke free with a squawk. Dick laughed.

"Off to bed with you, twerp! See ya tomorrow!"

"Hasta mañana, guys... and gals!" and Tim scuttled out of the room, leaving the three adults – and their familiars – alone together.

"Um... Professor..." Dick began, looking uncertainly from Gypsy to Dumbledore. "I feel kinda silly asking, but... what do I feed her? And..." he waved his free arm uncertainly. "...uh... do I need to... take her outside or something?"

The Headmaster laughed, and Bruce fought back a grin.

"No, Richard. You can just leave a window open for her. If it's too cold for that, she'll simply flame herself in and out. She eats herbs. There will be house-elves here momentarily to set up a perch for her and everything else she requires. I'll see that you get some reading material on phoenixes tomorrow."

"Oh. Okay. Um...thanks."

"Our pleasure. Goodnight, gentlemen." The Headmaster and his phoenix made a grand departure, which was somewhat spoiled by having to maneuver around several house-elves on the way out.

The house-elves were very efficient. It was only a matter of minutes before they had arranged everything for Gypsy in Dick's bedroom, and were bowing themselves out. Dick carried the phoenix over to her perch and held out his arm. She regally stepped from his arm onto the perch, stretched out her neck to rub her head along his cheek, and then settled down to sleep. Suddenly too tired to bother lighting a lamp, Dick sat down on his bed with a bemused expression, turning his head to see Bruce leaning in the doorway.

"Bruce," he asked slowly. "What did I just do?"

Bruce chuckled and pushed himself off from the doorframe to sit beside Dick in the firelight.

"You just got yourself a new friend," he answered softly. "One who'll be with you for the rest of your life."

"Yeah... but..." Dick waved his arms in frustration at his inability to express what he wanted to say.

"Easy!" Bruce said. "I know, it's a bit overwhelming right now–"

"You can say that again!" Dick interjected.

"–but it'll all sort itself out. Mine did, and Tim's did, so I expect yours will as well – even though yours was a more... shall we say... dramatic bonding." Dick looked up sharply, but realized from Bruce's half-smile that the gentle teasing was meant to reassure him.

Bruce continued. "How does Alfred put it? 'Everything looks better in the morning, after a good night's sleep, young sir.' "

Dick couldn't help but chuckle at Bruce's faultless imitation of Alfred.

"I'll tell ya, Bruce, I could use him here right now. For some reason, I suddenly feel like I'm nine years old again."

Bruce shrugged. "Makes sense – your world got turned upside down again tonight. Even though it was a positive thing that happened, it's still stressful." Dick nodded, his head down and his eyes on the fire.

"So," Bruce went on, "Since you're feeling like a kid again, and Alfred's not here, I guess you'll just have to make do with me."

Startled at that statement, Dick looked up, to find himself enveloped in his adoptive father's embrace. Startlement turned to shock. Bruce had not hugged him since he was... what... twelve? He automatically hugged back, and the big arms wrapped around him tighter. His head dropped onto Bruce's shoulder, and he found himself calming, surrounded by the sense of security and protection Bruce had always brought him as a child.

He relaxed further as Bruce gently stroked his hair and murmured in his ear, "Get some sleep, Dick. Things'll be a lot more settled in the morning." He nodded, letting go and sitting up as Bruce released him.

"Thanks, Bruce," he said, flashing him a weary version of his usual lopsided grin. "For everything."

Bruce stood up, then playfully reached out to ruffle Dick's hair. "Any time." Dick batted his hand away, before bending down to pull off his shoes.

Bruce reached for the handle of Dick's door on his way out. "Good night, son," he whispered softly as he left, closing the door behind him.

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_


	19. Chapter 18: Strategic Planning

Disclaimers and other info in Prologue

**Sufficiently Advanced Technology…**

…**_is indistinguishable from magic._– Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 18: Strategic Planning**

"We've established several things thus far." Bruce stood leaning against the wall of Dumbledore's office, in the cold, grey light of a snowy November afternoon. They were continuing the discussion which had been interrupted by Gypsy the night before. "We know which region of the brain controls magic, and we think we know what it does. We've pinpointed the types and levels of energies emanated when a wizard casts various spells, including the Unforgiveable Curses. And we've determined exactly how a wand works."

Harry leaned forward from his seat on the long couch, which had not been present an hour earlier. When the team had descended on Dumbledore's office for the meeting, the Headmaster had conjured up the couch, and the four Gryffindors had promptly taken it over.

"How **_does_** a wand work?"

"Turns out Tim was right." Dick was comfortably sprawled in an overstuffed chair near the perch where Gypsy and Fawkes were softly preening each other. "It **_is_** a focusing device. When a wizard casts a spell, he or she is transmuting energy into a specific form and transmitting it. The wand focuses that energy to a specific channel, similar to the way a funnel directs water flow to one specific location. And the wand also resonates to that energy."

Ron's brow furrowed. "Resonates?"

"You've seen a child on a swing, right? The child moves his legs and body to get the swing to move. A swing oscillates - vibrates back and forth - at a natural frequency, or rate. If the child's movement is synchronized to the swing's movement – in other words, the child adjusts his movements to the same frequency as the swing - the swing will resonate – that is, it will go higher and higher. If the child's movements and the swing are not synchronized, the child actually interferes with the swing, causing it to slow down. With me so far?"

He got a round of nods.

"OK. Now, like a swing, every wand has a natural magical frequency – its own individual response to magical energy. When spellcasting, each wizard broadcasts his or her energies at a particular frequency. When the wand's natural frequency doesn't match the wizard's, they interfere, and spellcasting becomes difficult, if not impossible. When the wand and the wizard do match, however, they resonate, and the full power of the spell can be focused."

Ron suddenly got it. "That explains why 'the wand chooses the wizard!' "

Dick nodded. "Exactly."

"Wait a minute." Now Hermione was puzzled. "If finding a resonant wand is such a problem, why did wizards start using wands in the first place?"

Dick shrugged. "I'd guess that focused spells have a lot more power than unfocused ones. The first wand uses may have been accidental, but they made enough of a difference that they were worth the bother."

"But what about you guys?" she asked, almost in an accusatory tone. "You don't use wands – and now those of us in the D.A. don't have to, either."

Dick smirked. "That's because we already know how to focus – and Tim's teaching you. It'll probably always be easier for you to spellcast with a wand rather than without one, because that's the way you first learned, but at least now you don't **_require_** one. That'll come in handy if someone ever disarms you."

"Oh. Okay, so what's next? You said you'd figured out how magic works, and how we control it?" She looked at Bruce in time to see his lips tighten.

"The best explanation I can give," he said slowly, "is that by casting magic, a wizard can influence superstrings, and thus manipulate the fundamental particles, forces, and energies of the universe." He looked around at the blank expressions. "I'm afraid that I cannot be any clearer without spending several days explaining quantum physics."

When Hermione looked like she was about to ask him to do exactly that, Tim hastily intervened.

"Guys, don't go there! Believe me. It'll make Dick's explanation of PET scanning look like a nursery rhyme."

Professor Dumbledore's voice overrode any objections.

"I believe that, as long as Mr. Wayne, Mr. Grayson, and Mr. Drake understand it, the rest of us will leave it in your capable hands, gentlemen. And if Miss Granger wants a fuller explanation, perhaps Mr. Drake can discuss the intricacies of the process with her in their copious amounts of spare time."

Hermione glared at all of them, folded her arms across her chest, threw her hair back over her shoulder with an exasperated toss of her head, and subsided. Ron cleared his throat irritably.

"Guys, this is all very interesting, but how about we get back to the point - how is it going to help us get rid of You-Know-Who?" He wilted when Bruce favored him with a Death Glare, but Hermione unexpectedly came to his defense.

"He has a point, you know. Theories are all fine and dandy, but are they going to be of any practical use here?" She looked around at the six astonished faces gaping at her, and scowled. "Oh, come on! Even **_I_** know that theoretical discussion doesn't do much good in the middle of a battle! We need something we can **_use_** against the Death Eaters!" She was about to continue in the same vein, but Dick held up a hand.

"That's what this is all about. Now that we know the specifics behind magic, we've been working on developing countermeasures to their spells – even the Unforgiveable Curses. With any luck, we'll be able to find a way to neutralize or block Voldemort's magic permanently."

"Too bad we can't just use a mirror that'll reflect anything he casts back in his face," Tim commented under his breath. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"**_Practical_**, Tim, remember?" she commented acerbically. "Really - a mirror?"

"Hang on a minute, Hermione!" She turned to Harry, ready to snap a sarcastic comment, but stopped herself at the look on his face.

"Harry?"

Harry ignored her.

"Professor... what happened in the graveyard... I think you called it _Priori Incantatum_?"

Dumbledore nodded. "The Reverse Spell Effect." Seeing the look on Bruce's face, he proceeded to explain.

"Harry's and Voldemort's wands share magical cores. Each of them contains a phoenix tail feather - Fawkes' tail feathers, to be precise. When a wand does battle against its brother, one wand will force the other to produce a shadow, or echo, of the spells it has performed, in reverse order, with the most recent first. Is that what you are referring to, Harry?"

"Yeah... but before that part... when Voldemort and I were fighting..." Harry's brow was furrowed as he tried to remember exactly what had happened a year and a half ago. "...he threw _Avada Kedavra_ at me at the same time I threw _Expelliarmus_ at him, and our wands linked with a golden... I guess you'd call it a thread, or a cord... then the thread split and surrounded us with a... net, or cage, of light, that the Death Eaters couldn't break through. And I heard phoenix song... and Voldemort couldn't break the connection, as long as I didn't let go..." He shook his head and looked up at them.

"Would that help us any?"

Dick, Bruce and Tim looked at each other. Dick broke the silence thoughtfully.

"Matching wand cores... matching frequencies?"

"If we could pinpoint the exact magical frequency using Harry's wand, and then recreate that effect, we might be able to create a force-field, specific to Voldemort, which could do the same thing!" Tim supplied excitedly.

Bruce nodded slowly.

"The initial field could be created with Waynetech equipment, but once triggered, it would have to be self-sustaining. And it would have to be completely impermeable and unbreakable, either from the inside or the outside."

"I wonder if that's where the phoenix song comes in," Dick mused.

"But to even get started with that, it sounds like we need a couple of wizards with matching wands," Tim pointed out.

"Mr. Ollivander will be able to provide us with a list of names, from whom we can choose an appropriate pair," Dumbledore assured him.

"So if it works, once we get the force-field operational and finish developing a set of effective countermeasures, then we can fight the Death Eaters on their own ground," Tim summarized.

"Wouldn't it make more sense to fight them on ours?" Harry flushed as he suddenly realized he'd blurted his thoughts out loud, and hastily backtracked. "Well, isn't that what Professor Binns told us about all those old battles?" He paused to remember the quote.

"_Half or more of all fights are won even before the first spell is cast, simply by choosing the proper battlefield._"

Dumbledore smiled.

"I am pleased to see that at least **_one_** person remains awake during History of Magic lectures," he commented dryly. "What battleground would you suggest, Mr. Potter?"

Not having gotten that far in his thinking, Harry didn't have an answer ready, and silence reigned for a few moments.

"What about right here?"

At the quiet suggestion, Bruce's attention snapped to Tim. "Elaborate."

"Well, it's kinda logical. I mean, this is a castle, right? It's designed as a defensive structure. We could lure the Death Eaters here at a specific time. Since no one can Apparate in, they'd have to use physical means to get here, and we'd be able to spot them coming. We'd have our own people, like the Order of the Phoenix members, in position in advance. We've got all the students in the D.A. here to help, too..." His voice trailed off at Bruce's growl.

"You know we don't involve civilians, Tim." He would have said more if Dumbledore hadn't interrupted him.

"There **_are_** no civilians in this battle, Bruce. This war is escalating rapidly. If the students do not fight here, they will most assuredly fight – and likely die – elsewhere... and soon."

"I know you don't like it, Bruce, but Tim's right. It's likely that we'll have to trigger the force-field from the cave, and from here we should be able to... shall we say... persuade Voldemort to follow us there. As far as defeating the rest of the Death Eaters goes - this castle would be the perfect spot for guerilla warfare."

Harry turned a perplexed eye toward Dick.

"Um...I'm not sure large African apes would be a whole lot of help here, Dick." He turned and glared as Tim suddenly started to cough uncontrollably.

Dick chuckled.

"Not _gorilla_, Harry – _guerilla_. It means sneaky, ambushes, distractions, traps around every corner, that sort of thing." He frowned suddenly. "Of course, we'd have to figure out magical versions of those, since a lot of our regular stuff won't work here."

A grin spread across Ron's face.

"Noooo problem."

Harry and Hermione looked at him, then at each other, and all three started to laugh. Dumbledore's eyes were dancing.

"Do you think they'd be willing to use their skills in support of the lawful authority for a change, Mr. Weasley?" he asked.

Bruce, Dick, and Tim glanced at each other, mystified.

"Are we missing something here?"

The Gryffindors' laughter only intensified. Unable to speak through her giggles, Hermione simply patted Tim comfortingly on the shoulder in response to his plaintive question. Ron finally managed to control himself enough to gasp out a response.

"You'll never know unless you ask them, Professor."

"Well, then, I suppose we should do just that. Will you do the honors, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron stopped laughing. "Um...shouldn't the request come from you, Headmaster?"

"You are correct – it shouldn't. An invitation delivered by Fawkes in a column of flame would attract a bit too much attention, I believe. I think a short visit to Diagon Alley is in order here."

"He's got a point, Ron," Hermione observed.

"OK, OK. Got any Floo powder handy?"

"_**STOP."**_

Everyone froze momentarily at Bruce's deep rumble. Professor Dumbledore raised a quizzical brow.

"Is there a problem, Bruce?" he inquired mildly.

"Exactly **_what_** is going on here?"

"I would have thought that was evident. We are recruiting more assistance."

"Just **_who_** are we recruiting, Professor? I was under the impression that we decided last night that this was to be kept secret until we had no other choice."

"Don't worry," Harry assured him. "Those two can keep secrets like no one else I've ever seen."

The Headmaster smiled.

"We are recruiting two Order of the Phoenix members, Mr. Weasley's elder brothers. Fred and George will be instrumental in developing your guerilla warfare - they have been creating magical distractions, ambushes, traps, hoaxes, and tricks all their lives, usually to the dismay of everyone around them. In addition, as twins, they have a pair of matched wands."

Bruce frowned.

"I don't like it... but it sounds like we've gotten to the point where we have no choice." He sighed. "All right, Ron, go recruit your brothers. **_But_**," he punctuated his words with another Bat-glare, "make sure no one overhears you!"

Ron gulped, nodded, accepted the Floo powder from Dumbledore, and disappeared into the fireplace. Hermione took a breath and opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Dumbledore held up an admonitory finger.

"We shall delay engaging in any further discussion until the Misters Weasley join us. While we wait, I believe this would be an ideal time for a spot of refreshment." He waved his wand, and a large circular table appeared in the middle of the room. It was covered with a white linen tablecloth, and was set with silver and china for nine. An elegant silver tea service sat in the center, surrounded by silver platters of hot buttered crumpets and scones.

"Lady and gentlemen, please help yourselves. Just be sure to save some for our fellow conspirators, or they will be quite irate."

As they all descended upon the table, Tim muttered to Dick, "Heaven help us if Dumbledore ever meets Alfred."

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_


	20. Chap 19: Best Offense is a Good Defense

Disclaimers and other info in Prologue

**Sufficiently Advanced Technology…**

…_**is indistinguishable from magic.**_**– Arthur C. Clarke**

**CHAPTER 19: The Best Offense is a Good Defense**

Sitting cross-legged on her desk as usual, Tonks looked at the Gryffindor sixth-years. "I expect most of you will remember the Dueling Club and the Disarming Spell," she began. Tim looked confused. A pained look came over Harry's face. "Later," he whispered.

"Professor Umbridge _should_ have taught you the counter to that last year," Tonks continued. "Yeah, and we all know how well that turned out," Ron muttered under his breath. Tonks went on as if she had not heard him, although a twinkle in her eye proclaimed otherwise. "So we are going to remedy that today."

She turned her head at the sound of the door opening, and a mischievous look crossed her face.

"_**Slikker**_"

Late again, Lavender and Pavarti came pelting into the room, trying to slide into their desks unnoticed. Unfortunately, they were anything but unnoticeable as they slid right past their desks, all the way to the front of the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom, where they crashed into the teacher's desk. Red-faced, they tried to get up, only to have their feet slide out from under them again...and again...and again. Tonks finally took pity on them, allowing them to reach their desks in one piece.

"Thank you, ladies, for that excellent demonstration of the result of the Slipping Spell, otherwise known as the Banana Peel Effect."

Hermione looked slightly distracted for the rest of the lesson.

------------++++-------------

"Professor..."

Tonks looked up from packing up her things at the end of class. All of the students but Hermione had left the room.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Can you teach me the Banana Peel Effect spell?"

------------++++-------------

"Today is going to be different from most of your other sessions." Tonks again sat cross-legged on a desk, this time in front of Dumbledore's Army. "You've been practicing specific techniques to deal with specific Dark creatures and spells. Now I'm going to teach you 'nuisance' spells – small spells which, when applied correctly, can cause havoc out of all proportion to the effort expended to cast them." Her eyes suddenly twinkled as they fell on Ron.

"Mr. Weasley's twin brothers developed many of these spells!"

The Room of Requirement was shortly filled with shouts of teenage glee. Although the students knew they were preparing for an upcoming battle, they couldn't help enjoying themselves as they cast the Slipping Spell at each other with various levels of success. If they had been wearing coats and gloves, it would have looked like a skating party. Some students were only losing their footing for a moment, some were wildly windmilling their arms as they fought for balance, but the majority went slipping and sliding across the floor, their momentum sending them crashing into the piles of large cushions lining the walls.

"This isn't _fair!_" Tonks looked around for the source of the exasperated twin yells.

"What isn't fair?"

"I can't get this to _work!_ "

"One at a time. Miss Granger?"

"Every time I cast the spell at Smythe here, it slides right past her – even though she _says_ she's not casting a Shield Charm!" Hermione glared at her Hufflepuff partner in frustration.

"Miss Sundstrom?"

Ravenclaw Laurie Sundstrom glared at her Gryffindor partner in equal frustration.

"I have the same problem! He runs up, I cast the spell and he just keeps going like I never even bothered!"

"Let me see."

Both girls were right. Laurie cast the spell – correctly, in fact – and Tonks watched Neville Longbottom run past as if Laurie hadn't said anything at all. He tripped at the last second and fell into the pillows, but it was obvious to Tonks that that was simply due to his natural clumsiness. Hermione cast the spell at Keili Smythe, who darted past just as easily as Neville had. Tonks' eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to her.

"Sundstrom, pair up with Smythe. Granger, Longbottom, come with me." Neville meekly trailed after Hermione as she followed Tonks to a less-populated corner of the room.

"Granger, watch. Longbottom, run." Neville obligingly ran past Tonks again and again as she tried different variations of the spell. None of them had any more effect than the original, and after the seventh unsuccessful try she called a halt.

"Bear with me for a little while longer, Longbottom." Glancing around, she scooped one of a pair of jeweled, blunted daggers off a side table and handed it to him. "Now hold that and walk over there..." indicating a painted pillar about 20 feet away, "...and back. I have a few other things I want to try. And don't drop the knife!" She grinned at the panting boy. Neville kept a wary eye on her as he obediently walked back and forth, nervously clutching the hilt while she cast several other spells. Oddly enough, her smile grew as nothing happened with each successive attempt.

"Drake, Potter – over here, please." Harry had just picked himself up from yet another slide. He dusted himself off as he and Tim came over to the corner.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Boys, I'd like you to act as test subjects for a few minutes, if you wouldn't mind. Neville, give the knife to Potter. Drake, there's another one on the table - grab it. I want both of you to go back and forth between those two pillars a few times. Longbottom here and I have a few things we'd like to try." Neville's eyes widened.

"We do?"

"Yes, we do," she said firmly, taking his arm. "Get going, boys." She whispered in Neville's ear, and he looked at her uncertainly.

"Professor, you _know_ I won't be able to do that. I'm not very good at spellcasting – I hardly ever get it right."

"Just try it. I think you'll surprise yourself." She wore a secretive smile, the kind that said '_I know something you don't know._' Neville shrugged, gestured, and said, "_**Adhesio**_" Then he gaped in surprise as Harry's foot seemed to catch on the floor, sending him sprawling. Tonks smiled in satisfaction.

"I _told_ you you could do it. All right, now try this one on Drake." She whispered in his ear again, and he gestured at Tim. "_**Maladroit**_" Tim suddenly clutched at the knife as it began to slip through his fingers. He grabbed for it with the other hand to no avail, and it clattered to the floor. He looked at Tonks with a raised eyebrow.

"Behold the Butterfingers spell," Tonks said smugly. "The first one was the Glue Spell. You can use it to temporarily attach an opponent's body part to any convenient surface – foot to floor, hand to wall or table..." She suddenly snickered. "...bum to seat."

Neville's eyes were wide with shock. "Professor – I don't understand. Those were so easy!"

"It's fairly straightforward, Longbottom. You're – no offense intended – naturally clumsy, right?" Neville flushed in resigned embarrassment.

"Yeah," he admitted painfully. "Always have been. Can't do anything right. Everyone always laughs at me." Tonks looked at him sympathetically.

"You must have noticed by now that I'm the same way," she pointed out. "I mean, knocking over my goblet of pumpkin juice at dinner the first night wasn't exactly the most graceful move."

"But what does that have to do with this?"

"Everything. Your natural clumsiness gives you a couple of advantages – it makes you immune to spells designed to artifically enhance clumsiness, while making you a natural caster of those spells. On the other hand, Granger, here, is so adept at everything, it's almost impossible for her to successfully cast spells of this type." By now, Tonks looked like the cat who ate the canary. "One more," she said smugly. She casually waved her wand and muttered "_**Accio Decor**_." Several throw rugs appeared, along with several spindly tables covered with a variety of ornamental items. "Drake, Potter, I'd like you to sneak around this section of the room." She grinned at them conspiratorially. "You should be good at this – you've had enough practice!" They grinned back unashamedly and obeyed.

Neville listened to Tonks intently for a moment, nodded, and exclaimed, "_**Klutzen**_" Tim and Harry's silent sneaking abruptly became very noisy. They knocked flower vases over and slipped in the water, sent statuettes crashing to the floor, and tripped on carpet edges. The overall effect was akin to that of a pair of bulls in a china shop.

By now they had drawn the attention of the entire army. Harry started to chuckle at the look of surprised delight on Neville's face. "Looks like you're going to be one of the main leaders of the castle defensive team," he said. Tonks nodded.

"Listen up, ladies and gentlemen," she called. "Longbottom has a few things to teach you!"

**++++++++++++++++++-------------++++++++++++++++**

When the students walked into the next meeting of the DA, they found a couple of identical redheads at the front of the room. Many of the students looked awed when they realized they were looking at a pair of local legends – the current generation's "bad boys" of Hogwarts. Harry's lips twitched, however, and Ron and Ginny simply rolled their eyes at the sight of their brothers lounging on a pair of ornate thrones.

"Welcome, welcome, ladies and gentlemen," Fred (or was it George?) began with a florid bow.

"To the Hogwart's branch of _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_!" continued George (or was it Fred?) with a matching genuflection.

The twins smirked at each other. "Today we have several items for your edification and amusement!"

"Now, if the audience will arrange itself accordingly – alphabetically, artistically or arbitrarily, all are acceptable - we will begin the show with the traditional magic demonstration." Fred waved his wand, and he was suddenly attired in a tuxedo and long red-satin-lined black cape. After the students had seated themselves on the floor, he swept the top hat off his head. "Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat!" Reaching into the hat, he pulled out a roaring lion's head, which promptly twisted around and tried to bite him. "Oops!" Quickly stuffing it back in, he waved his hand dramatically about and reached in again. This time he came out with a snarling wolf's head. "Rats!" In went the wolf, and out came...a rat.

"Oh, dear!" The rat was a little harder to get back in the hat. It twisted and turned, flipping itself madly through the air as it tried to get to Fred's hand, which was holding the end of its tail. He finally forced it back in, and brought out...a magnificient eleven-point stag – which, of course, immediately tried to gore him. After returning the deer to the hat, he dug around inside, muttering to himself. Then, grabbing something inside, he – finally! – pulled out a large jackrabbit.

"I knew it was hare somewhere!"

Replacing the rabbit, he turned to George, who obligingly waved his wand. The top hat disappeared, and Fred was again dressed in ordinary wizard's robes. The two grinned at each other and said in unison:

"And now for our next trick..." They conjured up a table with the _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_ banner on it. George laid out a bottle, a brightly colored box, and a small bag.

He waved a pair of sequined glasses at his audience. "When using these next few items, you should wear our exclusive Guardian Goggles for protection." Putting them on, he picked up the delicate bottle.

"This is a Flash Flask." He tossed the bottle on the floor in front of the students, and a blindingly bright light erupted from it. He waited until the students had blinked the spots away from their eyes.

"Or, if you prefer, you can use the Blackout Box. Open the lid and _voila_!" The room went totally black for a few moments.

"Rather simplistic, you must admit. Our true genius was in mixing the two. We call it..." Fred dramatically produced a drum roll. "... the Strobe Sack!" He picked up the bag, pointed the mouth at the students, and squeezed. Blackness boiled out. After a minute or two the questions of "Yeah, so?" and "Now what?" began to erupt, as the students strained their eyes to see through the dark.

"Wait for it..."

_**BOOM! **_An intense white light flashed throughout the room, followed by cries of pain.

"_**Illumiroomi**_ !"

Tim, who had instantly covered his eyes at the word strobe, looked up cautiously as the room lights came up to reveal the students with tears streaming out from beneath hands covering eyes. He was in time to see the twins smirk at each other again.

"Any questions?"

------------++++-------------

An hour later, Tim looked at Hermione. "This is starting to resemble the wizard's version of Batman's utility belt!" he whispered. Hermione managed to turn her giggle into a cough just as George walked over to lay a hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Now I need a victim – ahem, I mean volunteer..." Ron glared at George. "Who said I volunteered, you great git?" His brother rolled his eyes. "Mum did, of course. She said we could torture you whenever we want. So stand up, you're keeping everyone waiting!"

Wrapping strips of paper around his hands and over his shoes, Fred began to climb the wall. "No one ever looks up when they walk into a room. Fly-on-the-Wall-paper lets you spy on any activity, and eavesdrop on any conversation!" Reaching the top, he crawled across the ceiling, dangling from his hands and feet, until he was directly above Ron.

"It also allows you to ambush your enemies with the Spider Tangle!" He dropped a small object, which burst to cover Ron in a net. Moments later, Ron was thrashing on the floor, hopelessly entangled in the sticky threads. George let him struggle until Fred had dropped back to the floor, before dismissing the net with a wave of his wand. Ron climbed back to his feet and lunged at Fred, who flung a box down a few feet in front of him. Two ends of a cord sprang from the box and wound themselves around Ron's knees, sending him sprawling. "Useful things, Trip Wires." Ron had barely time to unsnarl himself when another box flew towards him. This one unfurled to reveal a blanket, which promptly wrapped itself around Ron, leaving him neatly rolled up on the ground. "Of course, the Bug-in-a-Rug Charm isn't half bad either."

As Ron worked his way free, George became serious. "I'm not going to actually demonstrate the next item, because I don't want to incapacitate you for the next several hours. This squeeze ball contains Habañero Horror. It's oil from the habañero chili, the hottest chili pepper in the world. You know what hot pepper sauce does to your mouth – imagine a squirt of this in your eyes." Everyone winced.

"We've saved the best for last - the Seven-Years-Bad-Luck Charm. You've sat still long enough – you need some exercise. Everybody up!!" Fred commanded. Warily the students got to their feet. He threw a small cosmetics mirror into the middle of the group. The tinkle of breaking glass chimed and the students found in a maze of mirrors. Fred's voice cackled from somewhere nearby. "We offer you this chilling challenge – to find a way out!"

Hermione was reminded of a fun house she had visited at a local fair. All she could see were multiple reflections of herself and the others. Some were normal sized, some were tall and thin, some were short and fat, and some were upside-down. Even the floor and ceiling were mirrored. The students began to bump into mirrors and each other as they tried to find an exit. Some even tried – with woeful lack of success - to break the mirrors. The more claustrophobic students were beginning to panic, and the rest were extremely frustrated by the time Fred cast the countercharm. The mirrors dissolved to reveal Fred and George reclining on their thrones again, this time with large bejeweled crowns on their heads. George waved a languid hand. A large gavel appeared in the air and hit the floor with a loud thump.

"Court is dismissed for the day."

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

A/N: I know it's been on hiatus for over 2 years, but I plan to have the last 3 chapters up in the very near future – finally!


End file.
